


With a Whimper

by achillese



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Language, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 77,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achillese/pseuds/achillese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam Milligan is free from the Cage, having been rescued by Michael while the archangel was using his body as a vessel. On the surface, the world looks the same, but nothing could be farther from the truth: something big is coming, and Adam is smack in the middle of it. He tries to run - wanting nothing to do with the world of the supernatural anymore - but he can't run from what's been festering and growing inside him ever since he and Michael broke free. His estranged half-brothers, the Winchesters, try to help, but there's only so much they can do. And the day will come when Adam has to face his destiny of Biblical proportions - or die trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Critical Acclaim

**Author's Note:**

> Written during NaNoWriMo 2011. Fanmix is located [here](http://8tracks.com/amaltheias/with-a-whimper) for your listening pleasure.

The first time, Adam Milligan was born of blood.

He came out of the womb on the twenty-ninth of September 1990, as the first and only son to Kate Milligan. His father wasn’t present for the birth, much as he wasn’t present for the majority of Adam’s life; he just existed as this vague concept of ‘father’ that Adam never really understood or fully grasped until he turned twelve and forced Kate to reveal his father’s name. John Winchester. The surname would be the death of Kate, of Adam, of everything he thought he knew to be truth.

The second time, Adam Milligan was born of earth.

Voluntarily pulled down from Heaven after agreeing to help a group of angels stop the Apocalypse, Adam awoke in a wooden coffin with dirt in his mouth and worms in his hair. He dug his way out and, once his hand broke the surface, was plucked from his grave by an unfamiliar angel with strikingly blue eyes who merely dropped the boy on the ground like the baggage he was.

The third time, Adam Milligan was born of light.

Trapped. Always trapped. Trapped in John Winchester’s lie, in Zachariah’s trickery, in his own body. The light in the green room hadn’t just been any kind of light, but a purity that burned through his skin and touched him to the core so that he felt he was being ripped apart and caressed all at once. Every cell in his body screamed pain, but something stayed to comfort him. A voice. His own name. A gentle touch, and he was gone. And _he_ was there. Michael the archangel, using his body because Adam was tricked into saying yes, into giving his consent, because he was always trapped. And then Adam watched as if it were a movie: Stull Cemetery, Lucifer, his half-brother Sam Winchester, and the Cage. The open hole in the ground that he’d gotten dragged into. And there he stayed. Trapped again.

The fourth time, Adam Milligan was born of fire.

\---

The darkness wasn’t a problem until he felt a sharp pain sting his cheek, almost like he was being slapped. How curious. For Adam, a slap in the face was almost a welcome gesture at this point; it was a sign he was worthy of a simpler reproach that didn’t involve being eaten by a ghoul or burned with holy oil.

It wasn’t until a few seconds later that he registered the cold, hard floor beneath him and the light breeze on his face that stirred his hair and tickled his nose with the scent of oak and wood and tree rot. He forced his eyes open, feeling as though he hadn’t done so in eons.

What he saw he wasn’t prepared for. He’d been expecting the fires, the chains, the hooks that pierced his hands and ankles, the barbed wire that wove its way around his arms and legs. And Toretan. He’d been expecting Toretan most of all.

Instead, he was lying in the middle of a black-and-white tiled floor, his arms and legs splayed out around him as though he’d just decided to flop backwards and make a snow angel. Without sitting up, he turned his head from side to side slowly, hearing the bones in his neck crack as he did so. He winced slightly but then relaxed as the pain receded and relief set in. Silently, he absorbed his surroundings, and judging by the very blasé furniture to his right and the official-looking desk to his left, he figured he was in some sort of hotel.

 _Hotel Hell?_ Adam thought to himself. _Is Toretan really that out of ideas?_

The hotel – if that’s really what it was – looked completely fallen to shit. The grotesque red wallpaper was peeling everywhere and dust one inch thick covered most of the furniture. The chandelier hanging above Adam was drowning in spider webs. As far as Adam could tell, he was lying on the only clean spot on the floor: a giant circle that surrounded him and gave him an extra few feet to maneuver around in.

He lay there motionless for what felt like hours but was really only minutes, anxiety overtaking him each time he dared so much as breathe too loudly. If Toretan was nearby, he wouldn’t want to be discovered. Maybe lying on this dirty floor for the rest of eternity didn’t appeal to most people but compared to what Adam Milligan had been through, it was like he was being offered first class on an airplane, and damnit he was going to enjoy the ride.

A creak sounded somewhere near Adam’s feet and he looked down the length of his body to see a hallway facing him. There was no light emanating from it, but he could still make out the shadow standing at the far end. Adam internally prayed that the shadow was just a bookshelf or a large painting, but when he shifted to sit up on his elbows to ease the ache in his neck, the shadow moved and began to glide towards him.

 _Fuck._

He struggled onto his elbows and attempted to sit up all the way but his muscles and bones protested. He’d barely started leaning with his hands behind his back when the shadow approached and stood at the divide between the hallway and the hotel lobby. It stood there and stared (or at least, Adam _thought_ it was staring. It was hard to tell when he couldn’t see if the thing had eyes).

Adam knew the thing had seen him – he was only a few feet away – so he had no qualms about clearing his throat and attempting to speak to it. If he was going to die – here, now, again – might as well fit in some famous last words. The problem was, Adam’s throat was so dry that he couldn’t even cough without feeling like his mouth was on fire.

Without warning, the shadow moved forward so quickly Adam was certain it had disappeared and reappeared kneeling at his side. Kneeling. A young man with dark hair and sharp green eyes set in a hardened, olive-skinned face. Totally unfamiliar yet at the same time it was the face of a friend.

His voice was monotonous: “Don’t strain yourself. Your body won’t thank you for it.”

Adam tried to respond but his voice failed him yet again and all that came out was a little croak. The man frowned, worry lines appearing on his forehead. In a split second he was holding out a glass of water to Adam, who could’ve sworn that it hadn’t been there before. Or maybe he was still disoriented from waking from a sleep that seemed like it was years long. Whatever the case, he was hesitant as he reached out towards the glass.

“What’s the catch?” he finally managed to say hoarsely; his throat screamed in protest at his speaking but he did so anyway, health be damned at this point.

The young man continued to frown. “What do you mean?”

“Toretan.” The name came out as a strangled sort of gasp.

“What...? You’re not in Hell anymore, Adam. You’re safe.”

Safe was a relative term at this point in the game but Adam didn’t have the energy to question this stranger’s choice of words or ask him how he knew Adam’s name. Instead, he complied with his throat’s obvious desire for nourishment and accepted the water. His hand trembled violently as he gripped the glass and he nearly tipped the contents onto his own lap. The stranger quickly cupped the glass and Adam’s hand with both of his own; he was warm and soothing, but at the same time Adam felt a dangerous spark prick his hand when their skin touched. Nevertheless, he kept Adam’s hand steady as he helped raise the glass to his lips. Adam drank like a man possessed, downing the whole thing in two large gulps. When he was done, the man gingerly took the glass from him and set it aside.

Adam cleared his throat a few times before speaking again. “Where am I? And who are you? What’s going on?”

The young man got off his knees and opted for sitting cross-legged beside Adam. He hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a troubled expression on his face. Adam watched and waited, studying the still-unfamiliar face.

Finally, the man spoke. “We weren’t supposed to end up here. I apologize for that. I brought us off course when escaping the Cage with you.”

“You escaped _with_ me?” Adam clarified, skin crawling. “So...you had to be in there...with...” He trailed off, realizing why this guy could be so strange yet familiar at the same time. “You’re Michael, aren’t you?”

The man – Michael – nodded. Adam collapsed back onto his elbows. Fucking Michael. It was just his luck to be stuck here with the archangel. Especially considering the fact that—

But Adam grabbed tight to his thoughts, preventing them from diving down into that hole that he’d tried so carefully to keep filled for all these years. He wouldn’t think about the past...not now, at any rate.

Instead, he honed in on another part of Michael’s statement. “What do you mean, you brought us ‘off course’? Where were we supposed to go?”

Michael shook his head and talked as though he hadn’t heard Adam’s question. “Such a juvenile mistake to make...of course he would’ve attacked...should’ve been better prepared...”

“Mike?” Adam snapped his fingers in front of his face to get his attention.

Michael’s head popped up and he glared at Adam. “My name is Michael. Not Mike.”

“Sorry.” He held up his hands in a halfhearted attempt at an apology. Really though, he couldn’t care less about the archangel’s nickname preferences (or lack thereof).

Michael clenched his jaw tightly before speaking again. “You don’t remember being down there, do you?”

Michael’s words brought Adam out of his hole. “Oh, I remember.” Accusatory. Harsh. Venomous. “You abandoned me after, what was it, forty years? Just left me down there on my own so you could go have your stupid slap fight with your brother. And then it was another...oh, I dunno. Fifty? Sixty years? Time in the Stratum passes by so slowly that I just can’t seem to keep track of how long I was really down there.”

Michael didn’t even blink at Adam’s rage. “I did what I had to do. Surely you know that my duty is first and foremost to my Father, not to you.”

“I gave you permission to use my body,” Adam hissed through clenched teeth as he got up off his elbows; his anger was giving him the adrenaline push he needed to sit up straight unaided. “And you just stripped me off and tossed me down there.”

“You’re suggesting that I cast you off as soon as you became a hindrance,” Michael said with the tiniest bit of amusement.

“That’s what happened.” It was a statement, not a question. Adam pushed himself off the ground and ignored the wave of dizziness that threatened to send him toppling back down. “So where the hell are we and how do I get away from you?”

Michael sighed from his spot on the ground but remained seated there. “From what I can gather we’re in a hotel.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion and Adam sighed and rolled his eyes. He’d forgotten how out-of-touch angels could be. Granted, the only angel he’d ever really been able to have a proper conversation with that didn’t involve, ‘Get the fuck out of my body’ or ‘What the hell are you doing to me’ was Castiel, and that was only for a brief couple of seconds when Castiel had been guarding him at that ramshackle house in Sioux Falls.

Adam’s stomach gave a sudden lurch as he remembered – or tried to remember – the last thing that had happened to him on Earth; the name ‘Sioux Falls’ had jogged his brain. Memories that hadn’t surfaced in the Cage came rushing back to him like a cresting wave and he could see everything in small flashes: the Winchesters, the old drunk named Bobby, Zachariah’s cocky smile. His taste buds suddenly turned sour as he remembered the taste of his own blood, choking on it, spitting it onto the floor of that beautiful room where he’d been trapped and practically vaporized by Michael. Was that it, then? Was that the last thing that had happened to him when he was alive and pre-vessel?

He looked down at Michael as though he’d get an answer but of course he received nothing but an empty stare.

“You said we went ‘off course.’” Adam repeated. “Wanna elaborate on that a bit?” He resisted the urge to call him ‘Mike’ just to piss him off but he turned his back on him to show his continual annoyance.

The archangel was suddenly standing in front of Adam in the blink of an eye. Adam flinched backwards and nearly slipped in the dust that coated the floor.

“I was raising you,” Michael said. “Carrying you out of the Cage. I’d finally found a crack in the system, a weak spot in the walls, and I was getting ready to break us both out of there.” He paused, turning away from Adam so he could face the hotel desk, as though he were ashamed of what he was about to say and couldn’t bear to look Adam in the eye. “Lucifer caught wind of what I was planning and tried to sabotage me. On the way up to the crack in the Cage, he attacked. I lost my concentration and had to fight him off while still keeping hold of you. Somehow we made it out, but we didn’t end up where I wanted to be. We’re here instead.”

“Where were you taking us?” Adam asked.

“To Sioux Falls. I was going to drop you off with the Winchesters.”

Adam scoffed at that. “Well it’s a good thing you didn’t.”

Michael turned to him, pure confusion written on his features. “How do you mean?”

“Look, I’m sure you meant well and all, but I don’t want anything to do with Sam and Dean.”

“They’re your family.”

“Oh, right. Some family, leaving me to rot down there.”

Michael pursed his lips. “I am sure it’s not as easy as you think, breaking someone from the Cage without setting Lucifer free. But if there is one thing I know about the Winchesters from my little experience with them, it’s that they wouldn’t just give up. They might not have freed you, but I’m sure they tried to find a way to help you.”

“Well if that’s the case, how nice of them. Remind me to send them both a fruit basket for their efforts.”

Michael stared so fiercely at Adam that anyone who wasn’t already used to having one archangel pissed at you, let alone two, would’ve wet themselves on the spot. “You are ungrateful.”

“And you’re uncompassionate.”

Again with the evil eye, but Adam stood his ground and stared right back at him.

“I did what I had to do down there, and that is all I’m obligated to say about the matter,” Michael said. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Yeah, no, of course not. I only gave you permission to use my body indefinitely, but it’s not like you owe me a decent explanation or anything.”

Quicker than the speed of light, Michael grabbed Adam’s shirt collar with one hand and swung him around to slam him against the front desk. His lower back came into hard contact with the edge and he winced and nearly choked on his heart as it leapt into his throat. Suddenly frightened for his life, Adam watched as though from someone else’s vantage point as Michael held tight onto his shirt collar and grabbed the bottom hem with his other hand, pinning him there.

“Don’t ever presume that you have some kind of control over me,” Michael hissed. “You think that just because I needed you once that you have some kind of value? That I won’t hesitate to toss you back into Hell if you become too much to handle? You need to understand, Adam Joseph Milligan, that just because you were my vessel doesn’t mean you get to – as they say – ‘call the shots.’ I owe you nothing. You’re lucky I even bothered to take you with me. You’re lucky I didn’t just drop you when Lucifer attacked me. So show me some respect.”

He released Adam, who hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath and so he gasped for air as soon as he was freed from the archangel’s grasp. His heart was back in its proper place but it was thudding wildly against his chest; Michael had never treated him with such violence before.

 _The Cage_ , Adam’s inner voice tried to rationalize, _The Cage changes everyone. Michael is no exception._

They stood staring at each other for a moment while Adam tried to fight back tears of shame and frustration. Michael didn’t seem to notice and his hardened gaze never softened or moved from Adam’s face. It was a stare-down that Michael won when Adam turned his face away and mumbled, “So what’re you going to do with me now?”

Michael crossed his arms over his chest, pretending to think it over, but Adam sensed that he already had a game plan. “I’m bringing you to Bobby Singer’s. I believe that your brothers will be there and they’ll take care of you. From there on, it’s not my responsibility to look after you anymore.”

“Wait. You’re...you’re _unloading_ me on _them?_ ” Adam’s voice rose an octave in disbelief.

“I am not unloading you. They’re _your_ family. I am not. You’re not mine to look after.”

“Right, but—”

“Adam, there’s no argument to be made here.”

“What makes you think they’d even want me there? They clearly didn’t go out of their way to get me out of the Cage, so I’m thinking they’re perfectly fine in their little universe of two.” Adam paused. “Zachariah was right. They don’t give a rat’s ass about me, so long as they have each other.”

“Families can grow. Expand. You are just as much a brother to them as they are to each other. You have just not had as much time together as they have.” Michael was trying to be comforting but really, he wasn’t doing such a fantastic job.

Adam shook his head in disagreement and sighed, running a hand through his hair in a frustrated manner, but he didn’t say anything. They were running in circles now, endlessly chasing each other’s arguments like a cat and a mouse. There’d be no getting through to Michael now, not when they had only just popped from the Cage like some kind of twisted jack-in-the-box, and though Adam had more than his fair share of questions, it was clear that Michael wouldn’t be answering any of them. Like he’d said, he ‘owed him nothing.’ Still...

Before Adam could suggest they reach some sort of compromise, Michael was reaching out to him with two fingers and saying, “Close your eyes. You might get dizzy.”

\---

It was a good thing that Michael suggested he close his eyes; the moment his fingers touched Adam’s forehead he felt his feet lift off the ground and there was a light brush of feathers against his cheek. _Wings?_ Adam wanted to peek but something in the back of his mind warned him against it, that it would be rude and possibly dangerous to do so, so he kept his eyes shut and trusted Michael not to drop him as he felt themselves travelling at some kind of warp speed through the heavy, dense air.

Only seconds later, Adam’s feet hit the ground again hard and his legs buckled beneath him. He crashed down with a yelp, nearly spraining his ankle in the process.

“Thanks for the warning,” he snapped as he knelt there and massaged his ankle back into working order.

Michael didn’t respond but merely looked around, drinking in their surroundings. Adam did the same, and if it hadn’t been for the giant sign that read SINGER AUTO SALVAGE, he wouldn’t have had a clue as to where he was. He had never seen the outside of Bobby’s house before as he was kept on lockdown mode inside the house the first and last time he was here. Broken and battered cars littered the yard; some of them were only slightly used looking while others were simply skeletons. It was a strange assortment of wayward vehicles but Adam found it appropriate for Bobby, who seemed to have no issues taking in wayward humans as well. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

Suddenly a horrible thought struck Adam and he remained on one knee, staring at the dirt with unnecessary concentration. What if the Winchesters didn’t want him there? What if they rejected him? Where would he go? Granted, he wanted nothing to do with their lifestyle choices and he was more than ready to give both of them a good kick to the nuts, but an invitation would at least be nice. Especially when Adam had nowhere to go. Michael obviously wasn’t looking to adopt a human puppy, his mother was gone, and everyone in his hometown thought he was dead. There weren’t exactly a lot of options for him.

Michael seemed to think that Adam was on the ground due to pain, because he reached down and touched a finger to the back of his neck to try and heal him. It didn’t do anything physically, but Adam swore the anxious pit in his stomach was lessening.

Michael frowned as he lifted his finger from Adam’s neck, as though he’d felt something rather unpleasant back there, but when Adam reached over his shoulder and touched, he couldn’t feel anything unusual.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, eyeing the slightly perturbed look on Michael’s face.

“Nothing’s wrong. Shall we?” Michael asked, and without waiting for an answer he started walking down the dirt path towards the house.

Adam cursed under his breath before getting to his feet and slumping after him. He tripped over little scraps of metal strewn across the pathway but he made it to the front door in one piece. Michael stood there, waiting patiently for him to catch up. Adam stood on the bottom step; hands shoved into his pants pockets, and watched as Michael reached out with one hand to either open the door like a human being or break it open with his angel juice. Apparently, Michael liked to arrive in style, and so the lock on the door broke of its own accord and the door itself flew open, smashing into the wall behind it. Adam heard the sound of glass breaking; either a photograph or a vase, he couldn’t tell.

“We could’ve knocked,” Adam said gruffly.

Michael ignored him and strode right inside, leaving Adam out on the porch. He kicked at the creaking wood underneath his feet and leaned against one of the posts, still too nervous to actually go inside and greet his brothers. Again, he had no idea why he was the one who was nervous – after all, wasn’t it well within his right to be absolutely furious with them for leaving him down there? He attributed his anxiety to post-Cage jailbreak and tried to shake it off.

A loud shout from inside the house caught his attention. It sounded like Sam. Adam’s stomach lurched at the memory of his enormous, bulky sibling and he tried to blend in with the outdoor surroundings in case anyone came running.

He could hear Michael speaking in hushed tones, trying to explain who he was, and Adam eavesdropped a bit. Apparently his current vessel was a new creation, not a previously existing human, and the only reason it was keeping Michael in tact was because he’d used atoms of John Winchester’s to bind himself together. He’d been able to do it fairly quickly before Adam woke up—

At the mention of Adam’s name, he heard Sam stop Michael from speaking. A heavy silence followed and Sam asked Michael if he was talking about Adam-their-half-brother-Adam. Michael answered with a terse 'yes, that Adam, he’s out on the front porch.'

Adam’s shoulders tensed as he heard pounding footsteps in the house, getting louder and closer until Sam Winchester appeared in the doorway, out of breath, eyes open wide as he saw Adam standing there on the bottom step. His large hands gripped the doorframe tightly and behind him, Adam could see Michael standing ramrod straight in the kitchen with his hands behind his back, like a soldier who’d done his duty.

“Adam...” Sam gasped. He released his white-knuckled grip on the frame and staggered over to his younger brother, one hand slightly outstretched as though to touch him, to assure himself that Adam was really there. But Sam didn’t do more than let his hand hover there, unsure of himself, of Adam.

“Hi, Sam” was all Adam could really say. Sam’s hair was longer than he last remembered and he seemed bulkier, more muscular, but it was still Sam, still the same guy who’d tried to get through to him back when Adam was alive and ready to throw himself at Michael’s feet to be used as a vessel. The memory of his own eagerness brought the taste of bile to his mouth but he quickly swallowed and continued, “It’s...it’s great to see you.” Not a lie. He was happy to see Sam. The question was: is Sam happy to see him?

He got his answer when Sam took one enormous step down to Adam’s level and clapped him on both shoulders before bringing him into his chest for a hug. Adam’s face was burrowed in his brawny chest but it was worth being choked; it meant Sam was happy that Adam was here. Adam awkwardly tried hugging him back but before he could get a good grip, Sam pulled away, his eyes shining.

Adam cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not actually _crying_ right now, are you?”

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes skyward. “It’s just...it’s great to see you too, Adam. We never...we thought...” He trailed off.

Adam could sense Sam’s discomfort coupled with relief, so instead of standing awkwardly on the porch together he motioned to the house with a quick head-nod. “Wanna talk it over inside?”

“Yeah,” Sam said breathlessly, blinking quickly to get rid of the moistness.

He motioned for Adam to walk ahead of him and so he did, taking his first official steps inside Bobby Singer’s house. At the other end of the house Michael stood, still waiting for them in the kitchen with a blank expression on his face, as though the miniature outpouring of brotherly love did nothing to warm him or at least make him crack a smile.

Sam turned to shut the door behind him but saw that it was nearly falling off one of the hinges. He shot Michael a look but said nothing, instead opting to make due with the screen door for now.

“Still burrowed at Bobby’s, I see,” Adam couldn’t help but comment as he took note of the piles of beer bottles and ancient books stacked on nearly every flat surface in the kitchen.

Sam chuckled. “We kind of have to, at this point. Things have been, uh...pretty chaotic in the past year.”

“Year?” Adam’s ears caught the telltale word. “I’ve been...it’s been a year?” He rounded on Michael. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would’ve found out soon enough without my help,” Michael said stiffly.

The noise that came out of Adam’s mouth was one of half disgust, half annoyance. “So you just kept that important piece of information to yourself, did you?”

Michael sighed once, a quick one to demonstrate his annoyance, before saying, “I apologize. It was silly of me to think that the amount of time passed would be unimportant to you.”

It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now. More than anything, Adam wanted to kick him, but he knew that would be pointless and besides, with the way he was acting, Michael would probably just vaporize him on the spot if Adam so much as lifted a finger against him.

Sam, however, wasn’t having it. “What else have you not told him?”

“Plenty. And it’s for his own good.”

Sam scoffed. “Right, because your kind know so much about what’s good and what’s bad for us.”

Michael unclasped his hands from behind his back at last and took a step towards Sam. “My kind? Would you like to be a little more racist? My kind are the ones keeping this planet together. And the last I checked, you didn’t seem to have a problem with Castiel helping you with your little crusades. Which, by the way, was very cute. I haven’t forgotten. Holy oil Molotov? Very creative.”

Adam winced and Sam tightened his jaw before speaking again. “All I’m saying,” he said, struggling to keep his voice to a reasonable decibel level, “is that you shouldn’t be the one to decide what to tell Adam and what to hold back. He deserves to know everything and _you_ shouldn’t be making his decisions for him.”

“I’ve spent decades in Hell making his decision for him so I think you may be a little late on that call.”

“You’re a tactless son of a bitch.”

Adam jumped at the new voice that seemed to come from nowhere. Without warning, a hand clapped him on the back and again he nearly jumped out of his skin, startled. He turned, and there he was.

“Dean,” Adam said tonelessly.

Dean Winchester forced a smile, hand still on his shoulder, though his eyes were full of reluctance. Over Dean’s shoulder, Adam saw Bobby Singer approaching from the staircase, jaw dropped and hand on a gun he was keeping in his back pocket. No doubt Bobby’s first instinct was to shoot him for being a...a demon or a shifter or something else other than himself.

“It’s me, Bobby,” he promised. “All of me.”

“Did you check him?” Bobby said, ignoring Adam and speaking only to Sam.

“No,” Sam admitted sheepishly. “But...”

He motioned to Michael, whom Bobby finally saw for the first time, having eyes only for Adam at the moment. His jaw dropped even lower if possible as he regarded Michael with fascination and revulsion. Somehow, Michael was instantly recognizable, even in a vessel. Adam attributed it to something innate that the archangel carried, some kind of otherworldly knowledge instilled in the back of the human mind that wasn’t activated until they were in his presence.

“What the hell is he doing here? What are both of them doing here?” Bobby demanded. Adam flinched as he heard not a single note of happiness or relief in the old man’s voice. He knew it. He was unwelcome here.

“I took the liberty of breaking us both out of the Cage,” Michael responded. “You’re welcome.”

A heavy silence filled the kitchen as Dean released Adam, allowing the youngest to take a step back. Knowing both Dean’s and Michael’s hotheadedness, he could only guess at the kind of explosion that was to follow.

“You’re welcome? You’re the one who got him stuck in there,” Dean snapped as he rounded on Michael. “Grabbing Sam like that and getting pulled in. What a stupid thing to do.”

Michael didn’t seem fazed. “I’m not the one who got him stuck in that room.”

“And I’m not the one who gave the orders to pull him out of Heaven to be used as a friggin’ puppet.”

“You could’ve easily avoided all of that by saying yes in the first place.”

“Do you _want_ me to ram my foot up your feathery—”

“How about we all agree that you’re both idjits?” Bobby interrupted. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry right now and as long as that’s really Adam and he’s doing okay...” He suddenly trailed off and looked at Adam with a suspicious glint in his eyes. “How _are_ you doing okay?”

“What do you mean?” Adam asked.

Dean turned to regard his youngest brother with a sudden interest. “No, wait a minute.” He paused. “He’s right Adam. You should be a drooling, fetal mess right now.”

“Well thanks for your unwavering support.”

“That’s not what he means,” Sam stepped in helpfully. “It’s just that...when I came out of Hell, after I got my soul back, we had to put up a wall to protect me from my memories. They would’ve just...completely broken me.” He frowned. “It’s just a little too convenient that you’re walking around like nothing’s wrong.”

“So, what? You want me to be unhinged? Losing my mind? Hey, I can play that card if you want me to,” Adam said none too kindly. Then again, could you blame him? They seemed almost _disappointed_ that he wasn’t a useless, limp puddle of tears.

“I noticed the disturbance as well,” Michael piped up. He ignored the glares he was receiving and took a step towards Adam. “When I healed you earlier, your soul felt strong.”

“Well, great.”

“Too strong.”

“And that’s bad because...?”

“Because I’m not the one who strengthened you. I was planning on it while you were still unconscious, but I felt your soul stitching itself together. It was still weak at the time, but just now, when I brought you here and healed you...” He frowned. “It’s a truly remarkable recovery rate.”

“So something fixed him out of the goodness of its heart?” Dean asked. “Without saying a word, or – or trying to make some kind of shady deal?”

“It might not’ve been a demon, Dean,” Bobby said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Well what then? Is Death just going around handing out free walls to everybody who pops out of the hot box?”

“You’re looking at me like I’ve got a damn clue.”

Dean looked at Adam, shaking his head. “I don’t like this. It’s too sketchy.”

“We’ll have to deal with it when we get back. Come on, Cas is waiting downstairs,” Bobby said, motioning for Sam and Dean to follow him as he turned towards the basement door.

“Cas is here too?” Adam remembered Castiel from the last time he was here. He hadn’t spent much time with the trenchcoat-wearing angel, but he’d been nice enough from what Adam remembered.

Michael, on the other hand, picked up on a different part of Bobby’s statement. “Where are you all going?”

“Eve,” Sam and Dean said at the same time.

“We know where she is and we’re gonna gank her before she gets a chance to get away,” Dean explained.

Michael cocked an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious. Eve. The Mother of All. How is she here?”

“Purgatory” was all Dean said. Michael’s jaw tightened but he said nothing.

Adam had no idea what they were talking about and he was about to say so when Sam brushed past him, saying, “We’ll go take care of Eve. Adam, you stay here.”

“Why do I have to stay?” Adam asked.

“Because you don’t know jack squat about hunting or what we’re up against. Trust us, you’ll be better off staying here. Safer,” Dean assured him.

Adam shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean...why do I have to stay here at all, period?”

Everyone in the room looked at him, even Michael, which Adam thought was silly because the archangel already knew his feelings on joining the Winchester road trip to getting your ass kicked.

“You don’t want to be here?” Sam asked, hurt laced in his voice and making itself visible in his eyes. Adam had to turn his face away; it was so evident.

“Look,” he began with an exasperated sigh, “I’m really happy and all that you’re all huggy-bear big brothers with me, but in case you don’t remember from a year ago, the last time I got involved with you and your shit, I got killed. In fact, whenever you guys are involved, I get killed. So I’m not just gonna sit this one out. I’m gonna get out.” He started towards the front door. “It was nice of Michael to drop me off to say hi, but—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re not just leaving,” Dean said, grabbing onto Adam’s shirt collar like he was a puppy. “You just got here. And we’ve got things to talk about.”

“You left me down there to rot,” Adam said through clenched teeth. “There’s nothing else to talk about.”

“Yes there damn well is,” Dean growled at him. “You can’t just run from this. We’re gonna talk it out like a civilized family.”

“Family. Right,” Adam said with a derisive laugh. “That word sounds really pretty coming out of your mouth in the right situation, but I’m starting to think Zachariah was right. When it comes down to the basics, everyone else can go fuck themselves so long as you have Sam and he has you. Fine. I don’t blame you. You’re brothers. But don’t drag me into your shit with this fake family smile only to turn your back on me when I need you, okay?”

Everyone was stunned into silence, and even Michael looked a little uncomfortable being in the middle of what was starting to look like yet another lovely family reunion. Dean swallowed hard and looked over at Sam as if asking for an answer that the other Winchester didn’t have. The blank and slightly injured looks on their faces was enough for Adam to know: he had a point. He might not be completely, totally, one hundred percent correct, but at least he had a point.

Eventually it was Bobby who spoke first. “Listen, I’m all for putting band aids on wounds that need healin’, but this isn’t the time. Adam, you sit your ass down and you stay here. We’ll talk when we get back.”

“I am _not_ —”

“And if you leave, we’ll find you and drag your sorry ass back here,” Dean added, interrupting Adam’s protests. “Come on Sam, Bobby. Let’s go.” He started towards the basement door with all the air and aplomb of someone intent on kicking ass and taking names until he remembered Michael was still standing there. “You can, uh, go. Thanks for bringing Adam here.”

Michael frowned a bit before slowly turning and sinking into a kitchen chair, pulling his feet and knees up so he could hoist himself to sit on the backrest rather than the seat itself. His feet were propped up on the actual seat and he looked like an eagle perched on a branch. “I’ll stay here and wait for you to get back. There are things we need to talk about, Dean. Just you and I.”

Dean’s face clouded over as he regarded Michael’s words with careful consideration. Sam seemed to be holding himself back from saying something while Bobby looked as though he were itching to shoot Michael between the eyes. Adam knew, of course, what Michael was referring to, and he understood the sudden tension in the room, but he didn’t understand why Michael didn’t just leave and pop back up to Heaven in the meantime. After all, he’d been away for quite awhile...unless, of course, this was a ruse so he could babysit Adam and keep him from running, which he had every intention of doing, archangel stalker or not.

“Fine. We’ll talk later. I can’t guarantee I’ll listen, but we’ll talk,” Dean said brusquely before glancing over at Adam, snapping “Stay” like a command, and heading down into the basement.

Sam clapped Adam’s shoulder as he passed by and mumbled, “Don’t leave. Please,” before following his brother. Bobby left with a quick nod in Adam’s direction and did the same, shutting the basement door behind him.

Adam tiptoed over to the basement door and held his ear against it, ignoring Michael’s curious stare and slightly cocked head. He heard their muffled voices – Castiel’s included – before there was the rustle of feathers and then dead silence.

That was his cue to leave. He smirked a little and straightened up before turning and striding purposefully for the door.

“Where are you going?” Michael asked as he stayed rooted to his seat.

“Out for a beer,” Adam couldn’t help but say, hit with a sudden rush of déjà vu as he remembered Sam asking him the same exact thing over a year ago.

He heard a snapping sound behind him and without warning, a beer appeared in his right hand. Adam stared at it, too surprised to say anything snarky in response. He could almost feel Michael’s smirk on the back of his neck, the cocky bastard.

“You need only ask. I can bring you anything,” Michael said calmly from his perch.

“Thanks.” He put the beer down on the table in the hallway. “I’ll drink it later.” It was a lie, but so what?

He started for the front door again.

“Now what?” Michael asked, and this time he sounded a little annoyed.

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re supposed to stay here.”

“Yeah? Watch me,” Adam snapped as he flung the screen door open and stepped out into the afternoon South Dakota sun. He took one look at the dirt path ahead of him and started out at a comfortable walk, but when he heard the sound of Michael’s chair scraping against the hardwood floor – he was getting up – Adam broke into a desperate run.

In retrospect it was definitely a stupid idea. How was Adam supposed to outrun a archangel? His legs might be long and he might be fast, but no way was he going to make it very far when all Michael had to do was zap himself from point A to point B. Still, Adam managed to make it all the way to Bobby’s property line with the wind whipping through his hair as his mad sprint brought him ever closer to the road, when Michael suddenly appeared in front of him, standing just beyond the rusted metal arch that read SINGER AUTO SALVAGE. Adam tried to change direction and duck around Michael – again, why he thought he was quicker than Michael, he didn’t know – but as soon as he tried running past, Michael grabbed him around the waist and yanked him into his chest, one hand accidentally slipping between the bottom hem of Adam’s shirt and his jeans to touch the smooth skin of his stomach.

And without warning, Michael let out an uncharacteristic yelp and dropped Adam on the ground. He landed on his back with a cry of pain.

“What the hell was that for?” Adam snapped as he lay there panting and trying to catch his breath. “What am I, electrified or something?”

“Yes,” Michael gasped, staring at his hand as though something had bitten it.

Adam stared up at him from his spot on the ground, confusion lining his face and filling his blue eyes. “I...I’m what now?”

Michael didn’t take his eyes off his hand. “You shocked me. Not electrically, but...something connected...” he tore his gaze from his hand and zeroed in on Adam, making the human feel a lot like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. He hesitated a moment before stooping down and reaching out to him with one hand, but Adam backed away on his hands and rear.

“What’re you doing?” Adam asked worriedly.

“Stay still,” Michael demanded, slightly annoyed. When Adam obeyed, Michael scooted forward a little bit more and touched a hand to his forehead.

Something warm. Soft. Burrowed deep inside Adam’s body. His soul? No, his soul couldn’t possibly be this magnificent, this horrifically beautiful. Michael closed his eyes and tried to feel deeper, shoving past the little bits of Adam so he could sense whatever this foreign thing was. No. Not foreign. Familiar. Too familiar. Much too strong.

Horror suddenly passed through Michael’s face as his eyes widened and he stood up so fast Adam was dizzy.

“What?” he asked, panicked as he felt his forehead as though searching for a feverish temperature. “What is it?” He saw the look on Michael’s face, the disbelief and dread spreading across his features. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You...inside you...” Michael breathed. “You have an angel’s grace inside of you.”


	2. Never Go Back

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Adam demanded. 

He and Michael were back inside Bobby’s house and he’d been asking the archangel the same question for the past five minutes but so far he hadn’t received an answer. Michael was busy sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, apparently trying to use his Wonder-Boy angel powers to look for answers elsewhere. Maybe he was trying to ‘receive Revelation,’ which is something he’d muttered about as he’d half dragged, half marched Adam back into the house earlier.

Adam was pacing in front of Michael at the moment, but when he was ignored for about the fifth time he stopped walking and snapped his fingers a few times in front of his face. Michael opened one eye and stared at him blankly.

“I am trying to look for answers,” he said calmly.

“And so am I. What the hell did you mean that I have an angel’s grace inside me?” He clutched at his own chest as though he expected to feel something moving on the other side other than his own heartbeat, but nothing stirred. 

Michael closed his eye again and sighed. “It means exactly what I said it does. There is a grace inside your body, burrowing itself in you and making you its host. It’s what’s been healing your soul since you’ve been on the surface, which explains why you’re in much better mental condition than Sam was.”

“A grace. I have an angel’s grace inside my body,” Adam repeated listlessly. He rocked back on his heels and collapsed in one of the wooden chairs in the corner of the room. “And how exactly did it get there?”

“I don’t know, but I’m trying to find out, so if you could please remain silent so that I may concentrate...” 

Michael trailed off, expecting Adam to obey, but if there was one thing Adam Milligan didn’t do well, it was take orders. He continued rubbing his chest slowly, lazily, as though trying to massage whatever the fuck was inside him into submission. His eyes focused on the design of Bobby’s carpet and he tried to calm his breathing before speaking again. “What’s it gonna do to my body?”

“Nothing. Heal you, probably. But it won’t hurt you.”

“You’ve dealt with this kind of thing before, then?”

“No.”

“So then how do you know?”

“I don’t. I’m just trying to placate you so you’ll be quiet.”

Adam glared at him but tried keeping his mouth shut this time. He stopped rubbing his chest and instead closed his eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt at meditation. He’d never done anything like this before, not even yoga at college; he thought it was a waste of time and that it didn’t really work, even though his girlfriend at the time had been totally into it and tried dragging him along to her sessions every once in awhile. Now, though, he figured it was worth a shot as he tried to dive within the recesses of his mind and body to see if there was a chance he could feel the grace for himself. 

He sat there for what felt like hours but was really only about two or three minutes, and already he felt like hitting his head against the wall. He couldn’t feel anything except the steady beating of his own heart. What was angel grace supposed to feel like, anyway? Would it have its own pulse or rhythm? Would it feel warm if he connected with it? Or did it just exist on a plane that was undetectable?

He heard Michael sigh and shift around in his seat and so he opened his eyes, hoping that the archangel had received his ‘Revelation.’ “So? Anything?”

Michael shook his head, his face clouded in disappointment as he stood up and turned to face out the window, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared out at the expanse of craptastic cars that littered Bobby’s back lawn. “Father still hasn’t returned, though it’s been over a year since he’s been gone. I cannot seem to hear anything other than the sounds of the other angels bickering.”

Adam frowned. Not that he cared, but that didn’t sound particularly good. “What’re they arguing about?”

“It is none of your concern,” Michael said as he continued to stare out the window; Adam got the distinct impression that he was being ignored yet again.

“I think it’s kind of my concern considering I might be carrying one of their...their _things_ inside my body,” Adam said.

Michael’s shoulders tensed. “First of all, it is not a ‘thing’ inside you. It’s grace. Second of all, do not make the mistake of thinking that just because you’re carrying it means that you are entitled to knowledge of the host of Heaven. This is merely an obstacle. Soon I will find a way to extract the grace from you and you’ll be yourself again.”

Adam stood up, his skin suddenly chilled. “I thought you said the grace was keeping my soul together and healing me. Keeping me from becoming a drooling, mindless mess.”

“Yes, that’s what it’s doing.”

“So if you take that away from me, I’ll just revert to being a vegetable.” When Michael nodded, Adam felt his face grow hot with anger. “And you’re okay with doing that?” he asked in disbelief. “You wouldn’t feel bad about leaving me in that kind of state?”

“You’re not even supposed to be in possession of this kind of power,” Michael said through clenched teeth. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m merely righting a wrong and restoring balance to the universe.”

“Righting a wrong? What, you think I stole it?”

“No, but this is unnatural. Humans are rarely, if ever, given grace. It is a privilege reserved only for those who truly deserve that kind of honor.”

“Well, I am an Eagle Scout.”

Michael stared at him. “This is not a time to be making jokes. This is a serious matter.”

Adam repressed a snort of derision. 

Michael continued as though he hadn’t heard him. “At best, after I remove the grace, I could put up a wall in your mind that will block the memories of Hell and shield you from them. However, that would at best be a temporary solution to a permanent problem.” He caught Adam’s gaze. “Without that grace in your body, your soul could tear you apart from the inside out. Forget simply being a vegetable – you’d be in constant agony, never-ending torment. Death would be more merciful. A release. A gift.”

“And you would put me through that?” Adam asked, swallowing hard as he tried to keep the red hot rage in his eyes to a minimum. 

Michael tried to look sympathetic but failed, instead only managing what looked like a grimace. “I have a job to perform, Adam. My duty is, and will always be, to my Father and to the laws of Heaven. That grace is not yours, does not belong to you. You have no right to it, but _I_ have every right to return it to the angel to whom it belongs.” He approached the human and placed a hand on his shoulder. Adam looked away, betrayed. “I won’t do it now,” Michael said soothingly. “I’ll wait until your brothers return so they can...take care of you once I extract the grace.”

“You’re a righteous asshole, you know that?” Adam said.

Michael tightened his jaw and let his hand fall from Adam’s shoulder. “I can assure you, I don’t mean to be. But you are not my primary responsibility, Adam. You never were.”

Adam knew that he and Michael were the farthest things from friends. Hell, even the term ‘acquaintances’ sounded way too cozy to describe the fucked up dynamic between the two of them. He knew, of course, that he wasn’t supposed to take Michael’s words personally – after all, he knew Michael’s mind almost better than anyone and understood how loyal he was to God, how he’d forsake almost anything to follow His word – but his words still hurt and he had to take a deep breath to control the shuddering gasp that almost escaped his throat. 

‘Primary responsibility.’ Adam was never primary anything. Third son, illegitimate, born out of an affair between an injured hunter and a love struck nurse. Plan B vessel for the archangel, only used as bait, only taken as a vessel when it was clear that they weren’t getting Dean anytime soon. Abandoned by Michael in the Cage and left to fend for himself and face Toretan on his own. 

Despite the grace that was supposedly protecting his mind and soul, Adam shuddered at the thought of Toretan. Michael noticed and, for once, looked concerned. “What is it?” he asked.

How was Adam supposed to explain Toretan to him? The archangel didn’t know of his existence because he existed on a whole different level in the Cage, a level Michael couldn’t reach for very long because it was accessible only to humans – meaning, discarded vessels. Adam had spent his last several decades in the Cage stuck on that level, known as the Stratum, the ground floor. And it was there that Toretan dwelled. 

“Adam,” Michael said, interrupting his spiraling train of thought. “You look troubled.”

Adam blinked and forced whatever he remembered of Toretan to the side. “Yeah, no kidding. An archangel basically told me my life is worthless.”

“I never said that.” Michael frowned. “I was only saying that you come second against everything else that’s happening. There is much more going on in the world than our escape from the Cage. I can sense it. And there’s much more coming for us.”

“What, you mean the Apocalypse again?” Adam asked.

“No. Bigger. Possibly more dangerous.”

“Awesome.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on the corners of Michael’s lips, which in and of itself was a rare occurrence because hardly anything ever amused him. “We will be ready for it when it comes, whatever it is.”

“You mean you’ll be ready. I’ll be either in a straight jacket or in another grave.”

“You have a very negative opinion of yourself,” Michael observed. 

Adam raised an eyebrow. “How do you mean? That’s not an opinion, that’s a fact. You said so yourself.”

“I said it _could_ hurt you. I never said it will. You’re under the impression that if I remove the grace that you’ll immediately collapse to the floor in a writhing mass of agony, but you are...surprisingly strong for a human, Adam. I’m not sure if you know that, but you should.” Michael absentmindedly smiled – genuinely smiled – and caught Adam by surprise when he continued, “You fought me on Earth and in the Cage. Do you remember that? You were trapped in your own body but you kept struggling every chance you got. You tried catching me off guard and on several occasions, you succeeded in damaging me for a little while.”

“Oh.” Adam licked his dry lips, unsure of what to say. He didn’t recall any of this. “I’m, uh, sorry?”

Michael shook his head, still with that half-smile on his face. “Don’t apologize. It was...interesting. Unexpected.”

“What did I do?” Adam asked.

“You attacked my grace.”

Adam paled but couldn’t help looking a little proud of himself. “Did I really? Did I do any permanent damage?”

_Fingers, long and calloused, ripping into Michael’s white-hot grace. Tearing at the seams. Digging into already-open wounds. Teeth biting, scraping, caressing. Knew his every weakness, every flaw, every part of Michael that would hurt. Lucifer attacks, then Adam, then Lucifer again, then back to Adam, a never-ending cycle where brother and vessel did the damage. Over-analytical, cold, disturbingly observant of Michael’s weaknesses. Nails scraping down, peeling bits of grace away with every stroke, maddeningly slow then frighteningly fast._

_Stop it. Please stop it._

_Adam._

“No,” Michael said with a straight face. “Nothing permanent.”

\---

The sun was starting to set and it was nearing a time when Adam recalled he’d usually eat dinner when he was alive. He didn’t expect Sam and the others to return anytime soon (whatever they were up against sounded formidable and he figured they would be gone for a few days at most) and so he decided to help himself to the food in the kitchen. Michael was perusing Bobby’s extensive collection of books, papers, and files, trying to find something interesting to read. Adam had a sneaking suspicion that Michael already knew about practically every supernatural creature in existence and that he was only trying to avoid speaking to Adam again, but he couldn’t prove it and so he took to making his sandwich in silence.

They hadn’t said much else after Adam asked what damage he’d inflicted on Michael, and even though the archangel had said there was nothing permanent he’d done, Adam could tell otherwise. His hesitancy to answer, his awkward posture...Michael might have the perfect poker face, but everything else about him gave him away. Adam wracked his brains trying to come up with some memory or flashback to when he’d been sitting passenger inside his own body, but try as he might, he couldn’t remember anything. 

He angrily slathered peanut butter onto one slice of bread, agitated by this turn of events. He’d barely been resurrected twenty-four hours and already the pile of shit was higher than he could possibly reach, what with the Cage, the mysterious angel grace hibernating in his body cavity somewhere, and now Michael’s insistence that he take a shot at fighting off Hell’s memories. Right. Like Adam Milligan could take on memories from the Cage on his own. 

Behind him, he heard the rustle of paper as Michael sifted through some of the things on Bobby’s desk.

“I wouldn’t mess up that pile if I were you,” Adam called over his shoulder as he put jelly on the second slice of bread. “Bobby gets pretty anal about his organization. Or lack thereof.”

“I will not mess anything up,” Michael promised with a low chuckle, again catching Adam by surprise with the sudden cheeriness (or at least, as cheerful as Adam had ever witnessed him). “I am merely...curious. I hadn’t realized the amount of information at the Winchesters’ disposal. It’s no wonder they always manage to get involved in places they shouldn’t.”

Adam couldn’t help but grin at that. “Yeah, well, Sam and Dean don’t seem like the type to just let things go, you know?” 

He put the two slices of bread together and voila, his sandwich was complete. He walked over to Bobby’s fridge and opened it, happy to see that he was fully stacked on beer, as per usual. Michael watched him from behind Bobby’s desk as he twisted one open. Adam took a large gulp and noticed him watching before he swallowed and held the bottle out to him.

“You want some?” he asked.

Michael shook his head. “Angels don’t need to drink.”

“Well who gives a shit if you ‘need’ to? Do you _want_ a sip?”

Michael hesitated and for a moment he looked less like a heavenly warrior and more like a curious puppy. Adam couldn’t help but grin a little as Michael stepped forward and took the bottle from him, frowning at it a bit before tipping his head back and drinking more than his fair share of the liquid inside.

Adam cocked an eyebrow as Michael handed the half-empty bottle back to him. 

'It was tasty' was all he had to offer.

“Jeez, Mike,” Adam chuckled. “You’d be a lot of fun at parties.”

Michael’s frown seemed stuck to his face. “I believe I told you I don’t like being referred to as ‘Mike.’”

“Well Michael’s a formal name in this day and age.”

“But it’s my name. You don’t see me trying to call you anything other than Adam.”

“It’s a short enough name as it is.”

Michael let out a breath of air that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a noise of discontent and surrender. Adam smirked and brought the bottle back to his lips without thinking about it and he’d already taken a few sips before realizing Michael had his mouth on it only seconds earlier. He made a face but figured the guy had already been cozied up in his body for several decades, so what did a little spit-swapping matter?

“When do you think they’ll be back?” Adam asked, trying to make small talk to break the awkward silence, the kind he always hated.

Michael shrugged one shoulder. “Can’t say for sure.” His eyes glazed over as he retreated into his own mind, as though he were trying to calculate the chances that Sam and Dean would even return from their venture to kill the creature they called the Mother of All. “Eve is a formidable foe. It may take them several more hours. Perhaps even a day or two.”

 _If they return at all_ , was left unsaid but it hovered in between them like an ugly elephant in the room. 

“Who’s Eve, anyway?” Adam wondered as he backtracked to the kitchen counter where his beloved sandwich lay, waiting to be eaten. 

“She’s the First, the Mother of All the monsters and creatures.”

“I thought that was Lady GaGa.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” 

Michael watched as Adam grabbed his sandwich and brought it over to the kitchen table so he could eat. Instead of joining the human boy, however, he stayed standing in the doorway, glancing at the kitchen and all the beer bottles littering the room. The Winchesters clearly didn’t play around with their drinks. 

“So really,” Adam said through his first mouthful of peanut butter and jelly, “who is Eve? She a monster?”

“I told you, she’s the Mother of All. She’s the creator of all supernatural beings, the genesis of all monsters. She was locked in Purgatory for the past one hundred thousand or so years, but apparently she’s been freed.” 

Michael moved to stand on the other side of the table, opposite Adam, who swallowed his food and motioned to the empty seat across from him.

“You can sit, you know,” he said slowly.

Michael shook his head. Adam shrugged and continued to eat, speaking through more mouthfuls of food as he did so. “What’s her game plan, then?”

“Her game plan?”

“What’s she doing here?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping that your brothers will find out for us when they meet up with her.”

Adam nodded without looking up and finished off his beer – what little was left of it. He caught one of the last drops on the tip of his tongue before getting up and leaving his half-finished sandwich and going back to the fridge.

“Should you be drinking this much?” Michael asked with an eyebrow raised. 

“It’s not like I’m getting smashed,” Adam retorted as he returned with his second beer, already open. “I’m just indulging my taste buds.”

And with that said, he took a large gulp as though to antagonize Michael, who regarded the beer with distaste as he said, “Maybe so, but you are still in the body of a twenty year old boy and you need to treat yourself as such.”

“Boy,” Adam scoffed. “Please.” 

“You _are_ just a boy,” Michael said with a hardened tone, “despite the number of years that passed up here.”

“So what, I stayed frozen at twenty? I still gotta wait a year to legally buy my own booze?”

Michael nodded and Adam didn’t seem that fazed. “Whatever. I’ll just keep raiding Bobby’s fridge. Seems that they’re never running low here anyway. Beer is like the nectar of the gods to these guys.” He took another sip as he stared at Michael, daring him to say anything against it. “Speaking of, where’s God in all this mess?” 

“You’re asking the wrong angel.”

“What, Daddy’s favorite son doesn’t know where Daddy is?”

A dark shadow fell across Michael’s face and he let out a quick breath of air through his nose before turning and walking back into Bobby’s study with all intention of getting away from Adam. The boy cursed lightly under his breath before abandoning his food and drink and chasing after the archangel.

“Michael! Michael, man, I’m sorry. That really wasn’t my place to speak,” Adam said, reaching for Michael’s arm and turning him around gently so they were face to face. Michael regarded him with yet another one of his patented blank stares. “I get it, it’s a sensitive topic—”

“I would think that somebody with paternal issues of his own would know better than to direct conversation in that area,” Michael interrupted. 

Adam felt his face heat up but he controlled the words coming out of his mouth. “All right, fine,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “New rule: I won’t talk about your dad, you won’t talk about mine.”

“Fine.” And with that, Michael turned to the bookshelf, and Adam knew he’d lost him for the moment.

\---

Adam fell asleep hours later without realizing it. He and Michael hadn’t spoken much more after Adam’s crotch shot at God, and so he’d finished his dinner in peace, had another few beers, and fallen asleep on Bobby’s couch. He was a sleepy drunk. Go figure.

When he awoke to the early morning sun shining in his face, however, he wasn’t on the couch and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was lying on his stomach on top of a neatly made yet musty-smelling bed with none of the blankets covering his body despite the chill in the room. Adam began to sit up slowly but a deep voice commanded, “No, Adam. Don’t move.”

Adam turned his head so quickly he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. “Castiel!” he gasped, and he tried to roll over so he could stand but a sudden sharp pain rippled down his spine and he cried out, falling back onto his stomach with stinging tears in his eyes. 

The blue-eyed angel was at the bedside in a flash, looking down at him with concern. “I told you not to move.”

“Cas,” Adam groaned. “What...what the hell...”

“Stay here. I’ll go get Michael.” 

And he was gone in the blink of an eye, the sound of fluttering feathers trailing behind him. A second or so passed and he reappeared with Michael at his side. 

What Michael said next made absolutely no sense to Adam: “They’re getting bigger.”

“Pushing through. When do you think they’ll break the skin?”

“I can’t quite tell yet, but once they do, he’ll be able to fold them back and hide them.”

“Of course. But Michael, processing them this way...it’s excruciatingly painful. Why do you think He rarely, if ever, created more of us out of humans?”

“I know it’s painful, Castiel, but I didn’t do this to him on purpose. You think I’d want this kind of existence for him?”

“Guys,” Adam said meekly from his immobile spot on the bed. “I’m right here. Talk to me. What’s wrong with me?”

Castiel and Michael exchanged a look that gave Adam the impression he wasn’t in for a fun ride. He tried to raise himself on his elbows again but his back felt like it was burning the second he did. He moaned in pain and Michael stepped forward to grab his shoulders and gently lower him back onto the mattress. 

“It’s the grace, isn’t it?” Adam grit his teeth, a tear rolling horizontally across his nose as he lay there. “It’s too strong for my body to handle.”

“Not exactly,” Castiel said. He stood with his arms at his sides as Michael carefully sat on the bed next to Adam. “In fact, it’s the opposite problem. Your body is taking the grace too well.”

“And it’s repaying me by ripping my fucking body apart?” Adam snapped. 

“This is not what you think,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “You are...” He trailed off and looked at Michael as though asking for permission to continue. 

The archangel didn’t see him; his eyes were only on Adam, searching his face for more signs of pain. He leaned over and, with one finger, tenderly wiped the single tear trail dry, but that only made Adam feel worse. 

“Adam,” Michael said soothingly. “No matter what we’re about to say, you must promise not to react too suddenly. You could hurt yourself. Do you understand? The slightest wrong movement could prove fatal.”

Adam made a whining noise once before mumbling, “I get it. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Michael sighed and moved a piece of Adam’s blonde hair away from his forehead so he could look the human boy in the eyes. “You’re growing wings. Angel wings. The grace is turning you.”

It took all of Adam’s self control (and he already had very little to begin with) not to throw himself off the bed and run to the nearest mirror. His body did, however, jolt with the shock and another wave of agony sent him into a fresh rush of curses, moans, and tears. Michael held one hand on the back of Adam’s neck to steady and soothe him.

“Heal me,” Adam pleaded. “Take them out. Rip them out, please!”

“I can’t heal you,” Michael told him, his own voice laced with discomfort. “Strictly speaking, you’re not injured. You’re evolving.”

Adam moaned and clenched his teeth. “Then get a fucking pair of pliers and break them off!”

“They’re just nubs right now,” Castiel interjected. “And removing them by human means would leave you in even worse condition than you are right now, trust me.”

“I don’t want this!” Adam’s voice rose steadily. “I didn’t ask to be turned!”

“Nobody turned you.” Sam Winchester walked into the bedroom, a pained expression on his face as he saw his little brother writhing on the bed with Michael’s hand between his shoulder blades as his only means of support. “It was the grace. It’s attaching itself to your body, making you its new host. Making you evolve.”

“Then rip the grace out!” Adam roared. 

He heard a sharp intake of breath and Michael’s hand stiffened on Adam’s back. There was a pause in the room as though time had stopped before Michael spoke: “That would be even more foolish now. The grace has already weaved itself around you soul, and now it’s burrowing in. Had I ripped it out sooner, had I not waited, then I could’ve done it, but your soul might not have made it. But now, with this grace _living_ in you, _breathing_ in you...” Michael sighed. “If I were to rip it out now, it’d kill you, not just destroy your soul.”

Adam bit down on the pillow in front of him to keep from screaming again. 

Sam shook his head and said, “Well there’s gotta be something we can do, right? We can’t just keep him in here while they grow.”

“I’m afraid that’s our only option right now,” Castiel informed him. “With these wings growing in, he won’t be able to move for at least a week.”

“Well they won’t stay visible like that, will they?” Sam asked, pointing at what Adam only assumed could be two nubs sprouting from his back. 

“No, of course not. Once they’ve fully grown out and strengthened, he’ll be able to fold them back and hide them like the rest of us. But for now, he’ll have to let them grow all the way. It’s a...regrettably painful process,” Castiel explained in a low voice. “Even more so considering...” but with that he trailed off. 

Adam watched as Sam nodded once gravely and he couldn’t stop the panicked whine from escaping his throat. “Considering what?”

Michael’s hand burned hot against the skin of his back as he answered, “You’re growing four wings. Not two.”

“F-Four?” Adam whispered, horrified, as goose bumps raced up and down his arms and back. Michael shifted his hand uncomfortably, their skin sticking together with slight perspiration. “What the hell do you mean, four?” 

Nobody answered.

“Why are there four?” Adam shouted, ignoring the pulsating pain in his back as he strained to raise his voice. 

“Adam.” Michael tried soothing him, running a hand through his hair. “You need to stay calm. You could seriously injure yourself if you’re too agitated.”

“Agitated? I’m not agitated. I’m...what the hell is going on, you guys?”

“You gained the grace of an archangel, you ass,” Bobby said none too kindly as he barged into the room with a couple books under his arms. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he’d spent the entire night and morning reading those damned books of his. “That wasn’t just any grace you picked up.”

“For the five hundredth time, I didn’t pick anything up,” Adam snapped. “I woke up on the floor and Michael found me like that. He was up before me. Maybe you should ask _him_ what happened.”

“I already divulged everything I know,” Michael said calmly. “We arrived at the hotel and I deposited you right where you woke up. I’d only been gone several minutes before you started to wake up, and I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It was simply an abandoned hotel.”

“Will you two idjits shut up for one damn minute?” Bobby snapped. “I’ve got something here.” 

He dropped the books on the nightstand near Adam’s head, startling him into jumping a little. He winced as his back protested the sudden movement. Bobby didn’t seem to notice.

“There ain’t much on grace lore that’s correct, I can tell you that,” Bobby began. “But according to this outdated text, grace is...well, it’s a kind of energy. It’s what makes an angel, an angel, essentially. Take away an angel’s grace and you’ve got yourself a mortal.” He waited a beat in case someone had a question before continuing. “As far as I can tell, grace isn’t a living thing, but it does act according to a set of laws.”

“Meaning?” Adam asked.

“Meaning that when you and Mike stumbled into that hotel, that grace was already there somewhere and it attached itself to the only living, mortal thing it could find: you.” Bobby pointed a finger at Adam. “You attracted it and it came to you.”

Adam stared at the older man, dumbstruck. There was a small part of him that wanted to call ‘bullshit’ on Bobby’s theory, but somehow the pieces were starting to fall together. 

“You said it was an archangel’s grace,” Sam said from the doorway. “I thought there were only four archangels?”

“There are,” Bobby answered. “Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel.”

At the mention of Gabriel, Sam stared at Bobby wide-eyed. Adam only saw him for a moment before he stepped forward, too far for Adam to turn his neck to see him. 

“Michael.” Sam’s voice sounded unsteady, which in turn unnerved Adam. “Where did you and Adam surface? What was the hotel’s name?”

“I...I believe it was the Elysian Fields Hotel. But it was abandoned completely, there was nothing there,” Michael said, his fingers tightening on Adam’s back. Panic laced his voice as he continued, “I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Elysian Fields,” Sam breathed. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because we were there.” Dean walked into the room, the morning light casting long shadows across his face and making him look much older than he really was. His facial expression was grim, uneasy. He looked down at Adam on the bed and there was something unreadable on his face. Discomfort, maybe. Even fear.

“What do you mean, you were there?” Bobby asked, getting right to the point.

Dean shook his head slowly. “After Adam was gone, Sam and I were driving in this storm and we had to stop at a hotel for the night. We got caught there by other gods from other religions and...well, to make a really long story short, Lucifer showed up to wreak havoc and Gabriel died trying to fend him off.”

Michael accidentally pressed down hard on Adam’s back when his brothers were mentioned and Adam gasped. Michael lifted his hand quickly but didn’t say anything. Adam’s fingers clutched at the blankets near his head and he stiffened his back trying not to make any more noises of pain. 

“Gabriel died at the hotel?” Bobby asked. Before Sam or Dean could answer, he continued. “Well that’s just great. Peachy. Gabriel dies, his grace stays behind, and the first human to walk through the hotel gets jumped by its energy.” He looked at Adam. “Boy, you’re carrying the archangel Gabriel’s grace around in your skin.”

“I can’t be,” Adam moaned, shutting his eyes tightly as though he’d be able to will and wish away the events unfolding before him. “That’s not...I can’t have...” 

“You can’t take it out of him?” Dean asked, directing his question at Castiel rather than Michael.

Castiel shook his head. “No. It would kill him. It’s already starting to weave itself in his body and soul. The growing wings are the first signs of permanence.” 

“So what, Adam’s gonna be a full-blown feathered angel now?” Dean asked. 

Before anyone could answer Dean, Michael said, “How did I miss that? I’m sure I would’ve felt Gabriel’s grace in Adam’s body when I nursed him back to health.”

“Not according to what I read in there.” Bobby picked up the heaviest tome and handed it to Michael, who took it and flipped through it halfheartedly; it wasn’t as if he knew what page to turn to. “According to another piece of obscure lore, receiving grace from an angel doesn’t just mean you suddenly sprout wings and fly off into the clouds. It has to be activated.”

“Activated?” Sam interrupted without being able to stop himself. “It sounds like you’re buying a computer.”

“Well d’you want me to finish yet or not?” Bobby asked sarcastically. Sam shut his mouth and he continued. “For a human, angel grace needs to be...kick-started before you can start using it. When a human makes some sort of spiritual connection with the grace inside him, it wakes this energy.” 

“That’s why Adam’s been off the radar until now,” Dean said as though he understood what the hell Bobby was talking about while everyone else still looked just as clueless. 

Bobby nodded and looked over at Adam, carefully reading the boy’s expression. “Tell the truth, Adam. You tried to leave, didn’t you?”

“Wh-What?” Adam groaned, fisting the sheets as another ripple of pain made its way down his spine. 

“You tried to leave Bobby’s earlier, remember?” Michael offered, trying to be helpful but only earning an angry grunt from Adam. He hadn’t wanted to tell his brothers that he’d disobeyed, but from the looks of it, they already knew what he’d done; they were just looking for a verbal confirmation on his part. 

“Yeah. I remember. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because you tried leaving your family just like Gabriel left his,” Sam explained, and as he moved back within Adam’s line of vision the youngest could see the realization dawning on his face, the wide-eyed look returning, the mouth opening slightly as the puzzle pieces fell into their proper place. 

“That’s a ridiculous connection,” Michael said bluntly. “Gabriel left Heaven because he was tired of Lucifer and I fighting all the time, of our Father not being there when we needed Him. That doesn’t parallel Adam’s reasons for walking out on all of you.”

“Doesn’t seem to matter. Both of them tried to let go of their families. S’far as I’m concerned, that’s a strong enough connection for Gabriel’s grace to consider Adam a kindred spirit and attach itself to him,” Bobby said with a shrug. He caught Adam’s eye and said, “I’m sorry kid, but this...this is big. Irreversibly big.”

Adam closed his eyes, a sinking feeling in his chest that threatened to drown him. No. No. No. This was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to get caught up in more of the Winchesters’ shit, wasn’t supposed to become a permanent fixture in their lives or in the world of the supernatural freaks that they hunted on a daily basis. He was supposed to be Adam Milligan, the pre-med student at the University of Wisconsin with the hot girlfriend and the pack of future-doctor friends, with the crappy truck and crappier life but the wonderful mom at home who would call him on weekends to make sure he was doing alright and ask if he wanted to spend a weekend at home just for old time’s sake. 

He wasn’t supposed to be a Winchester, or at least a part of their lives in this kind of twisted, crooked fashion. It wasn’t right and it didn’t sit well with Adam at all. He’d never had any inkling that he was the youngest of a trio, that he was irrevocably caught up in the whirlwind of their lives, that somehow he was the one who helped shape the future of the world back at Stull Cemetery that one fall day. Who was he to the world? He was a nobody, but somehow a nobody had been given one of the most important tasks of all and he’d failed at it miserably. He knew, of course, that Sam and Dean wouldn’t see it that way, but that was what he felt to be true. Between Zachariah’s trickery and Michael’s possession and the failed Apocalypse with Lucifer, Adam’s life had been one long laundry list of things that could possibly go wrong and did in some way, shape or form. 

All he wanted was some semblance of normalcy. Though he knew now that this kind of supernatural world existed in tandem with the reality he thought to be the one and only, he still wanted to make some attempt at living a normal life. He’d figured, for instance, that if he managed to escape the Winchesters he’d go back to college (with a fake name, of course, seeing as the official ‘Adam Milligan’ was listed as legally deceased). He’d become a doctor, grow up, maybe find a girl and marry her and have the two point five children that every news show said was the norm. The norm was good, and that was what Adam wanted. It was what he felt he deserved to have after all these months and years, and God knows what else happened to him in Hell because he sure didn’t, and it wasn’t as if he had any physical reminders of that because Gabriel’s grace was there. It was weaving its white-hot tendrils in and out, in and out, connecting with his soul and giving him more than enough reason to believe that he would never, ever be able to live a normal life and he might as well get used to the idea of being a Winchester, of being an archangel.


	3. Peacemaker

There was nothing left to be said after the revelation that Adam was carrying Gabriel’s grace around like a caddy, because the boy in question refused to speak to anyone. He simply lay facedown on the bed, not speaking to or looking at anybody who walked in. Sam tried getting through to him on a few occasions throughout the day but his efforts were always wasted. Bobby knew better and left Adam to his own devices, as did Dean (though the eldest Winchester gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder for good measure before following Bobby downstairs after their conversation was over, shoulders sagging). Castiel didn’t even show himself after he initially left. 

Only Michael stayed behind to keep him company, and even that wasn’t going so well because Adam wasn’t talking or even reacting to the archangel’s half-assed attempts at conversation and comfort. Eventually, the boy fell asleep again, and the room was filled with whimpers and little cries of pain and anguish. Regrettably at one point, Michael had to hold Adam to the bed by his shoulders; he’d been about to roll over onto his back, which would’ve crushed the in-growing wings and sent him spiraling into a pain worse than any he’d already felt in this life. Adam had writhed in his sleep but didn’t wake, for which Michael was thankful because he was certain that if Adam saw him again, he’d try to get away.

Michael sensed that Adam blamed him for what was happening to him, and in a way he wasn’t wrong. Had Michael sensed Gabriel’s grace in the hotel, had he been aware enough to feel its power, its energy pulsing within the walls, in the floors, tainting the very air they’d been breathing...well, let’s just say he wouldn’t have let anything happen to Adam that remotely resembled what was going on now. 

He sat on the windowsill, the afternoon sun heating his back, and he stared at Adam’s unconscious body, trying to put things together in his head, but the more jagged pieces he tried the hold, the more he got cut and couldn’t hang onto them anymore. 

There was a knock at the door and Adam stirred a little but didn’t wake. Michael frowned and stood up from his seat, the wooden floorboards creaking slightly under his weight as he walked the length of the room and cracked open the door. 

Dean stood there, arms crossed over his chest, a steely look in his eye. “We need to talk, remember?” he asked.

“Yes. Later? Adam’s still—”

“Sammy can watch over him. Now’s as good a time as ever, right? You wouldn’t want Adam to be overhearing this.”

Michael frowned as he understood what Dean was referring to. “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t want Adam overhearing this. But this is not an ideal time, Dean. Your brother’s body is falling to the power of my brother’s grace. It’s a gruesome process, one not seen on this Earth in at least a few thousand years. So perhaps you’d be better off making sure your brother does not lose what’s left of himself instead of chasing after an argument.”

“I’m only chasing it because you’re running away,” Dean snapped under his breath. He uncrossed his arms and stepped towards Michael as though he were about to hit him. “I get it, man, I really do. You’re keeping tabs on your Plan B vessel in case you need to haul ass back in there. But—”

“That is _not_ what I’m doing here,” Michael hissed, his voice raising.

Behind him, Adam moaned in his sleep. Dean’s eyes flicked past Michael’s hulking figure (his vessel was muscular to the point of legitimate intimidation on Dean’s behalf) and landed on the bed where his brother lay. His eyes darkened at the sight and he tightened his jaw before glaring at Michael. 

“Now,” Dean demanded, ignoring Michael’s previous protests.

Behind him, Michael saw Sam emerge from the shadows of the doorway across the hall and he sighed.

“Make sure he doesn’t roll onto his back,” Michael warned Sam before stepping out into the hall and following Dean down the stairs. He heard Sam close the bedroom door behind them and sighed again. The things this family does for each other...Michael was almost envious. Almost. Lord only knew (no pun intended) that his own family was a melting pot of angst and betrayal and sacrifice, but seeing it replayed in Winchester-format was more than a little disconcerting. 

Dean led him out the front door and into the salvage yard, which Michael found immediately off-putting but didn’t say anything. He was expecting a lot of yelling on Dean’s part and he figured the eldest Winchester wouldn’t want to disturb anybody in the house. Together, with Michael trailing behind, they walked far out to the giant metal sign where Michael had caught Adam and first discovered the presence of the grace in his body. When Dean reached the property line, he turned around, wiping the bottom of his chin with the palm of his hand in an agitated manner.

They stood in silence for a moment or two, staring each other down, the archangel and the intended vessel, before Dean spoke: “Why are you still here?”

He flung the question at Michael as hard as he could but the latter didn’t so much as flinch. 

“I...excuse me?” Michael asked.

“I said, why are you still here? You’re out of the hot box. You can go back to Heaven, take charge again, kick Raphael in the dick for us. You don’t have to be here. So why are you?”

Michael looked away from Dean and shifted back on his heels uncomfortably. This wasn’t the conversation he thought they were going to have. It wasn’t even remotely in the same ballpark. 

Michael sighed. “You have to first understand, my intention was never to stay here. But given the circumstances and your brother’s fragile condition, I thought it’d be best if I were to stick around for...for a little while longer.”

“My brother’s ‘fragile condition’ is something we can handle on our own,” Dean said, none too kindly. “We’re his family and we can look after him ourselves. If we ever need any angel juice, we’ve got Cas. You don’t need to torture yourself by being here any more.”

“It’s not torture to be on Earth, Dean. Perhaps you’ve forgotten where I’ve been the past hundred years, but Earth is quite nice, comparatively speaking.”

Dean didn’t so much as wince. “You know what I mean.”

“I suppose I do. You’re upset because you think I’m merely hanging around to wait for Adam to recover so I can take his body back as my vessel. Or perhaps you’re afraid that I’ll somehow try to coerce you into saying yes, seeing as you’re still my true vessel.” Michael didn’t sugarcoat his words at all, and Dean’s eyes narrowed as he listened. “Forgive me, Dean, but it sounds as though after everything, you don’t trust me.”

“After everything? After what? After you stole Adam from us, rode around in his skin, got thrown into Hell together? What did you even do to him down there?”

Michael tried to control the irritated look on his face, but that only changed it from irritation to anger. “That’s none of your business. That’s for Adam and I to discuss.”

“So you’re at least _going_ to talk to him about it? You’re not just gonna run away from the subject, like you did with me?”

“I was only running because I was under the impression you wanted to talk about the Apocalypse. About Lucifer. That is not a road I wish to go down at this point in time.” Michael caught Dean’s gaze and held it with his own. “I only just escaped from the Cage, Dean. Do not make me go back to it in my memories just yet.”

Whatever Michael was to Dean – an enemy, an asshole, an acquaintance – the hunter couldn’t help but feel sort of sorry for the guy. Whatever Michael did or didn’t do to them, Dean couldn’t imagine being stuck in a hole with Lucifer for a hundred years. Hell, Sam hadn’t been down there nearly as long and he’d come back to Dean an empty shell, a hollow man without a soul, and it had taken so long to get it back. And even then, his soul was a broken, withered husk; his wall was the only thing keeping him from going off the deep end. 

Still, though, that didn’t completely let Michael off the hook. No way. If anything, that only made Dean angrier. Michael was a friggin’ archangel, what the hell could possibly affect a human in the same way it’d affect one of Heaven’s mutts? While Michael was walking around with the luxury of avoiding his memories, Adam was lying immobile in a bed upstairs with two pairs of wings sprouting from his back, like some sort of fucked up hybrid of bird and butterfly. 

Michael continued. “I brought Adam with me out of Hell when it would’ve been more convenient for me to leave him behind. I nursed him back to health. I brought him to your doorstep. I watched him to make sure he wouldn’t run away, and when he did, I chased him and brought him back. I realize it’s not much, considering everything else that’s created a rift between us, but just the same I would appreciate it if you’d treat me less like a villain and more like the archangel I am.”

“Oh, well in that case, forgive me. I didn’t realize you were so magnanimous,” Dean quipped.

Michael shook his head and resisted the urge to roll his eyes, an instinct his vessel apparently found very welcoming at this point. “You Winchesters are all the same, with your attitude and your inability to show respect where deserved.”

“Buddy, I’m sure you’re used to everyone kissing your ass where you’re from just because you’re Daddy’s pride and joy, but that doesn’t work here. Here, you need to earn respect. And conveniently dumping Adam on us so we can heal him before you snatch him back doesn’t exactly scream ‘trustworthy’ in my book.”

“I have no intention of using Adam as a vessel. Even if it were possible, I would not want to do so again.”

Dean didn’t understand. “What do you mean, if it were possible?”

“Adam...is an angel now, Dean.” It pained Michael to say this, because truth be told, it was one of the things Michael found so pleasant about Adam. “He’s not human, no longer a potential vessel. I will not be able to use him ever again.” 

“Well that’s...” Something caught in Dean’s throat and he had to stop. Good? Was he about to say ‘that’s good’? Of course it wasn’t fucking good. Adam was no longer a human. He didn’t know what that meant for his baby brother, whether that meant a lifetime of doing as Heaven commanded or whether he was allowed to go rogue simply due to the circumstances of his evolution. It wasn’t good, but then, how could it be bad, when this was the only thing keeping Adam together after all those years downstairs? 

Dean couldn’t finish and Michael seemed to understand, because he uncharacteristically put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and waited until the Winchester looked him in the eyes. “Adam is safe from me. I promise you.”

“And what about me?” Dean asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Michael’s hand dropped and he turned to look at a tree growing nearby, craning his neck to see up to the top. “I am not sure,” he admitted, burrowing his hands in his pants pockets. “This vessel I am using now...it is satisfactory. Doesn’t protest. Holds me well. This doesn’t mean you’re completely off the hook, Dean, but perhaps...” Michael turned his head and tried to give him a smile, “perhaps this means you have a little while longer to think of a way out.”

Dean stared. Had Michael really just...wait a damn minute...

“You _want_ me to get out?” Dean asked incredulously. “You’re actually hoping I’ll find a way?”

Michael smiled sadly. “Years with Lucifer have given me time to think, Dean. Years with Adam. Being in his body, sharing his thoughts...it’s given me a chance to see everything from his perspective. Not that I had a choice, being in his body and all, but you understand.” He paused, seeing the still-pained look on Dean’s face as he so nonchalantly talked about his time with Adam as his vessel, and tried to find something to say to cheer him up somewhat. “D’you know, Adam really looks up to you and Sam? He’s angry with you, of course, for abandoning him, but that anger is intertwined with respect. For the little amount of time you were given with each other, and for all the inconveniences he puts you boys through, he thinks very highly of you.”

“Then why’d he try to run?”

“He’s afraid. He knows you and Sam have spent all your lives together and fears he’s ruining the family dynamic.” Michael wasn’t sure if Adam would want him regaling Dean with what consisted of some of his most personal thoughts and fears, but he felt that Dean had a right to know these things about his little brother. “John Winchester raised two hunters and a normal son. He’s worried that it is this difference that will work against him one day.”

Dean’s frown deepened and he had a feeling it would be permanently etched into his face at some point. “Adam’s lived and died like any hunter I know. He shouldn’t feel like...like he doesn’t belong with us. Because he does. He’s our family, Michael.”

“You are speaking as if I don’t know any of this already. It’s Adam who needs to hear this, not me,” Michael chided him gently. 

Dean nodded absentmindedly, not really looking at anything in particular at his point, but retreating into his own mind so he had a chance to get back on stable ground. Everything was a mess and to be honest, he had no idea which way was up anymore. His youngest brother was turning into an angel, the other archangel who’d been after his ass for months was giving up on the chase, and somehow Dean felt this was only the beginning of a whole new mountain of problems for them. Not to mention, their attempt to kill Eve had only succeeded in that they’d actually killed her. Instead of being satisfied with only that, the escapade had opened up a whole new can of worms, especially where Crowley was concerned. The little bastard should’ve been dead after Castiel burned his bones, but Eve had said he was still walking around. 

All in all, it wasn’t a very good start to the week for Dean Winchester. 

A sudden scream rent the air, muffled only by distance and the thin wooden walls of Bobby’s house. Dean and Michael both jumped and turned back to the house, eyes wide and hearts pounding. _Adam._

Dean caught Michael’s eye. “We’ll talk about this vessel stuff later,” he said firmly before racing back to the house. Michael followed close behind, too worried about his human charge to argue (and to simply zap himself inside the house). 

It turned out that Adam had accidentally ended up trying to roll over onto his back while Sam wasn’t looking, thus the in-growing wings rendered him in such a state of shock and pain that all he could do for the moment was scream and bite into the pillow, trying not to cry. Sam was in the bedroom when Dean and Michael raced in, looking horrified and ashamed of himself for not paying close enough attention to Adam.

“I’m sorry!” he cried when the two men walked in. “My back was turned for just a second or two and—”

“Sammy, Sammy, it’s okay,” Dean said hurriedly; his younger brother looked about to cry as well. “You didn’t know...”

He trailed off as he watched Michael kneel by the head of the bed, wiping Adam’s sweaty hair off his forehead with such tenderness Dean would’ve almost called it human. 

“What’re we gonna do with him?” Sam asked. “Watch him all night? Take turns trading shifts?”

“Seems like it.” Bobby appeared in the doorway with a grim expression painted on his already weathered features. “Can’t just leave him alone.”

“I’ll watch him,” Michael offered from his place near Adam’s head. His voice was hard with finality, as though he were demanding that they accept his decision as law. “I don’t need sleep. Or food. He’ll be well looked after.”

Dean frowned, unsure of how to feel about Michael looking after Adam. He still didn’t know what happened between the two of them in the Cage, whether or not Michael had treated Adam as harshly as Lucifer had treated Sam. He doubted that, of course – nobody could be crueler than the Devil himself – but there was still something sitting uncomfortably in the back of his mind, warning him, sending signals of distress every time Dean saw Michael so much as glance in Adam’s direction. He couldn’t quite place it but he resolved to figure it out as soon as possible. 

Bobby, too, looked uncomfortable with this arrangement. “You sure about that, Michael? I mean, we wouldn’t mind trading spots every few hours...”

“You don’t trust me.” Damn the archangel and his intuitiveness. “I understand why, believe me. A hundred Hell-years ago and I wouldn’t have trusted myself either. But things have changed. I have had time to...to doubt.” Michael’s lips pursed as he said the word, as though he’d never had to use it before in his life. He was unsure if he was offending anybody in the room. “I doubt the things I said, the things I believed to be true, the things I did or tried to do. And I doubted because Adam taught me how, because I learned from him.” Michael sighed. “I learned much from Adam. He was my teacher in the ways of humanity while we were stuck in the Cage. The last thing I’d want to do is intentionally harm my teacher...and my friend.”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes but he saw the look on Sam’s face and damnit, the guy was lapping this all up. Leave it to Michael to tap into Sam’s sensitivity like that. Son of a bitch.

Bobby looked equally as skeptical as Dean, but he said, “if you’re sure...”

“I am.” Michael didn’t even hesitate. 

The three hunters looked at each other, each one thinking different things but everything fell under one umbrella thought: ‘this is really weird.’ Not that they’d ever had much alone time with Michael before, but they hadn’t been expecting this kind of protective nature from him, especially considering the way he’d set Zachariah to continuously chase after Dean for his vessel the previous year. Michael was ruthless, fierce, powerful...hell, he was the friggin’ chief of Heaven, if you looked at it the right way. He wasn’t supposed to be so sentimental. 

Sam, however, didn’t seem to want to push the subject. He cleared his throat to cut through the heavy silence that had fallen and said, “we’ll be downstairs but we’ll check on you guys every now and then, alright?”

Michael nodded his understanding before the three hunters left the bedroom with Sam shutting the door quietly behind him. 

While Michael walked across the room to pull up a chair and sit vigil at the bedside, Adam’s exhaustion pulled him down into sleep and nothingness for a few blissful minutes.

And then he dreamed.

\---

_Together they crumble, tangled in each other’s graces, caressing each other with all the affection only two brothers could possibly show._

_Somewhere in the void, there is a door._

_Somewhere in the void, he screams. Is being torn apart. Is feeling teeth on flesh, on bone, on every fiber of his being. Ripped and skinned and burned and put back together and then it starts all over again oh fun what fun we’re having together you and I just us down here aren’t we Adam?_

_We’re having so much fun._

_Toretan._

_No defenses, no weapons, nowhere to run._

_Above, their graces give off light. So pretty. So bright. There’s his angel, that one, right there._

_Falling. Falling. Leaving. Dropping him ever downward._

_Toretan._

_Abandoned and left alone. Running, always running, but never getting anywhere. And somehow this is worse._

_But we’re having so much fun._

_Hours, years, decades. Still running, being chased, being torn up by things and things keep coming and he keeps running and nobody knows where to anymore._

_There’s his angel, this one, coming for him._

_Together they rise._

\---

Michael watched all afternoon and into the evening as Adam slept restlessly. He tried tossing and turning on a few occasions but Michael was always there, always prepared with a strong hand on his shoulders to keep him in one place. Adam struggled against the archangel’s grip on a few occasions – still sleeping, believe it or not – but eventually he gave up and collapsed back onto the bed, snoring softly. Michael watched his back rise and fall with every breath and wondered if the boy had ever slept in Hell or if that was an unheard of luxury. 

A shudder ran through Adam’s body suddenly and he whimpered in his sleep. Michael frowned, wishing he could put a blanket over him but knew that it would crush down on the fragile wing nubs still growing on his back. It would be painful and surely wake him up. 

Still, the room was chilly as the night closed down over them, and Adam’s skin was raised with little goose bumps. Michael hesitated a moment before leaning over, still sitting in his seat, and touching one hand to Adam’s bare shoulder, intent on pushing some of his warm grace forward to heat the boy. Before he had a chance to, however, he paused. He had no idea what kind of reaction Adam would have against Michael’s grace, especially now that he had Gabriel’s inside of him. He knew that once Adam got the hang of using his powers, he’d be able to warm himself up, but for now he’d need Michael’s assistance if he wanted it. Still, Michael lifted his hand from Adam in case he reacted violently. Better to be safe than sorry. Wasn’t that the phrase?

Adam apparently felt something though, because several seconds later he groaned a little and stirred, his eyes fluttering open, blue and clear. 

“Adam?” Michael asked, cocking his head to the side. 

A pitifully weak “ow” was all he got by way of response. 

Before Michael could react, there was a knock at the door. He threw Adam one last look to make sure the boy was okay before getting up and opening the door. Castiel was standing there, holding a tray full of breakfast food despite the time being somewhere between seven and eight o’clock in the evening. 

“We thought Adam might be hungry,” Castiel offered, holding the tray out to Michael, who took it gratefully. “Is he...?”

“He’s awake now. Been sleeping for a few hours,” Michael said softly. 

Castiel nodded. “Any problems?”

Michael sighed. “He looked like he was having a nightmare. And he’s cold.”

“So warm him.”

“I’m not sure what will happen if my grace tries to counteract Gabriel’s while it’s still settling inside his body.”

Castiel frowned and nodded slowly. “I understand.” He paused for a moment, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Perhaps it would be best if he were somewhere warmer.”

“We can’t move him, Castiel. You know that.”

Castiel made an irritated noise in the back of his throat before stepping into the bedroom and grabbing Michael’s upper arm with more strength and Michael originally would’ve given him credit for, nearly forcing him to drop the tray to the floor.

“We need to speak privately,” Castiel said matter-of-factly. “I will send Sam or Dean up here to look after Adam, but you and I must talk.”

Michael resisted the urge to groan. “Not now, Castiel. Please. I’ve already done more than enough talking for one day.” He lowered his voice. “Perhaps later. Alright?”

Castiel looked less than amused but he understood that Michael meant what he said. He nodded once and released the iron grip on the archangel’s arm, muttering, “I’ll just...leave you to your charge then.”

He was gone in a flutter of wings and disturbed air. Michael sighed and turned back to Adam, who was trying to raise his head from the pillow, eyes squinted in the semi-darkness of the descending evening. 

“The hell is that?” he asked, and Michael winced at the hoarseness of his voice.

“Dinner. Breakfast. Whatever you want to call it, it’s food and you need it,” Michael answered. He sat back down in his chair and set the tray down on the nightstand. Adam lifted his head a little further but shuddered and stopped as he found the pain threshold he couldn’t pass. 

“Can’t sit up,” Adam grumbled, more irritated than anything else. “Fucking hungry, too.”

Michael looked down at the tray, analyzing its contents. Fresh scrambled eggs, two slices of toast, a side of bacon, and a glass of orange juice with a long blue bendy straw sticking out of the glass. Clearly, it was a traditional human breakfast, and considering the fact that Adam hadn’t eaten anything all day, he could only imagine that the smell alone was driving him crazy with appetite. 

It was then that the shine of a metal fork caught his eye, and so Michael found himself feeding Adam, helping him lift his head up just enough to where he could manage to swallow down small bites at a time of the eggs and toast. The bacon was left for last and Michael ripped off little bits of it, feeding Adam by hand. Adam should’ve felt embarrassed at being treated like a small infant who couldn’t feed himself, but he was too weak for that kind of thinking. 

After he’d swallowed the very last piece of bacon and sipped more orange juice, Adam let his head fall back onto the pillows, exhausted by the effort of eating. Michael watched him with pursed lips for a moment before leaning back in his seat and pushing the tray further back on the nightstand so he could lean an elbow on the top. They didn’t speak, and soon enough Adam fell asleep again.

It was like that for days. Michael would feed Adam like a hospital patient and Adam would stay silent, hardly ever speaking to anyone. Even Sam got the silent treatment, and Michael had been under the impression that out of everybody, Adam was closest to Sam. Bobby stopped coming altogether, instead opting to delve into his ancient texts to see if he could dig anything further on archangel grace or its removal from a human body, but so far he was having no such luck. Castiel would aid him every once in a while, sometimes returning from faraway places with new ‘borrowed’ books and pages for Bobby to sift through, but that was only when Castiel was actually there. Most of the time, he was off doing his own thing, whatever that entailed. As for Dean, he spent a lot of the time cleaning his guns and working on locating Crowley, who was still at large. All in all, it seemed as though everyone had his own agendas to carry out. 

Adam, meanwhile, was slowly improving...and evolving. The nubs in his back were growing more and more each day, and by the third day Michael could make out the beginnings of silver-colored feathers.

The first time he noticed them – during lunchtime while he was feeding Adam some French fries that Dean had picked up from a nearby fast-food joint – a lump caught in Michael’s throat as he recognized Gabriel’s wings. 

All four archangels had their own colored wings. Lucifer’s had burned a cool blue, a beautiful color that rendered everything else blue, pale in comparison. Raphael’s color was red, which fit his fiery personality, but on his calmer days they were warm and comforting. Michael’s own wings were a brilliant white color that could blind any poor sap who happened to look at them at the wrong moment (usually when he was unfolding them, they burned brightest). And Gabriel’s had been a lovely shimmering silver color that put stardust to shame. As Michael stared at the little feathers – babies, really – on Adam’s back, he couldn’t help but feel a little nauseated by the thought that his beloved brother was dead, gone, but his grace was twining itself around and in and through the soul of the strange creature in front of him. 

Part of him _wanted_ to still rip the grace from his body, especially now knowing it was Gabriel’s. On more than occasion Michael found himself reaching for Adam when the boy wasn’t paying much attention. Michael tried reasoning that this would be merciful, that killing Adam by ripping the grace out would end his current suffering, but he never went through with it. He never got close enough to doing so because he always managed to stop himself before he reached a point of no return. Michael couldn’t even really explain _why_ he stopped every time: something about the way Adam’s face and body relaxed when he slept, how at peace he looked, how calm and normal and so utterly human that Michael couldn’t help but marvel curiously at the fascinating thing on the bed in front of him.

He’d never spent this much time with a human before; the fact that Adam had once been his vessel made him all the more curious about them. Michael knew Adam – knew his every thought, every memory, every emotion he’d ever felt. He knew all the curves and lines of his body, memorized every flaw and piece of perfection that made Adam Milligan who he was. And after all that they’d been through together, who was Michael to take that life away from this Earth, from this existence? 

After the feathers appeared, the wings started growing faster. By the sixth day, they were almost touching the opposite walls of the bedroom.

Throughout this whole process, Adam was falling in and out of consciousness. The pain was unbearable and so during the time he was awake, like when he had to eat or use the bathroom (a difficult process in and of itself, involving an old-fashioned chamber pot and a clear tube), they usually had to ply him with pain medication so he’d stop moaning. At first he’d tried to resist, putting up a front about how he was fine and he didn’t need any “stupid fucking pills” (direct quote) but eventually he’d given in. (Michael suspected it had something to do with the way Bobby had threatened to do something very uncomfortable to a sensitive part of Adam’s body with a socket wrench, but he could be wrong). 

While Adam was getting more sleep during the week than most coma patients, Michael passed the time by talking to him. He was more than certain that Adam couldn’t hear or understand him, and even if he did, he was also sure that the boy wouldn’t care much about anything that Michael was saying, but he talked anyway. Mostly he told him stories about Heaven, describing the Garden, his Father, the way their family was before Lucifer fell, the strong bond he still felt with his younger brother even though they were destined to kill each other. He told Adam about all the pranks and tricks they’d pull on some of the lower-ranking angels (especially Uriel) for fun. He talked about their wings, how each of them had their own colors, what it felt like to fly, how he’d teach Adam how to fly if he wanted him to. He talked about visiting other peoples’ personal Heavens sometimes, just to see. 

But he never once mentioned Kate Milligan. He was afraid that discussing her personal Heaven would be too traumatic for Adam to handle and he might hurt himself, so until the day came when the boy asked about her, he would remain silent. 

By the end of the week, the wings were fully-grown. Nobody else aside from Castiel had seen them just yet and Michael was wondering when would be the best time to inform them that Adam had fully mutated into not just an angel, but an archangel. The ‘reinvention’ of Gabriel. Or, as Dean had put it one day, ‘Gabriel 2.0.’ Michael had frowned a little at the term but let it slide. 

Now, Michael stared at Adam’s wings erupting from his back. The human was passed out on pain meds and sleeping pills, but his wings stirred and fluttered with every breath he took and every little snore that escaped. The silver tips were full-on brushing the walls now, caressing them as his wing muscles tensed and relaxed in time with his breathing pattern. Michael couldn’t help but stare as the silver color shimmered and shifted in the morning light, like water ripples in a lake. He was mesmerized for a moment, simply watching and remembering seeing those wings on Gabriel himself, and his heart ached for his fallen brother. 

Adam stirred a little in his sleep and Michael’s jaw tightened. He was waking up soon (Michael knew roughly what time the pills would wear off and Adam would awaken) and either he’d need more pills to cope with the pain or, because the wings were completely developed now, the pain would be receding. The archangel watched him roll his shoulders back a little bit and shake his head to wake himself up and he couldn’t help but smile a bit at the movement. The fact that he was moving was a good sign already.

Michael walked over to the head of the bed, neck tilted to get a better view of Adam as he sat up on his elbows. His blue eyes squinted in the light as he tried to wake himself up from his drug induced sleep. He craned his neck and looked around the room slowly, apparently not sensing or seeing the enormous wings sprouting from his skin, before turning his head up to look at Michael.

“What...?” he trailed off weakly, his throat dry.

As if automated by a machine, Michael picked up the full glass of water that he always kept on hand on the nightstand and held it up to Adam’s lips. The boy tipped his head back and drank greedily, water dripping past his lips, down his neck, and onto his chest where it dripped onto the bed sheets beneath him. This was almost routine: Adam wakes, give him water, give him pills, get him to fall back asleep. Or eat, and then sleep. 

But today wasn’t routine, because without realizing what he was doing, Adam began to sit up.

“Wait,” Michael commanded, grabbing the glass away and rushing to catch Adam by the shoulders. “You shouldn’t move so much. Your back – it’s still healing.”

“My...my back.” Suddenly it dawned on Adam that there was a reason he’d been bedridden for the past week and he turned his neck all the way around to regard the two pairs of silver wings that nearly eclipsed the windows on the far wall, casting dark shadows across the room. “Holy _shit._ ”

Michael grabbed Adam’s shoulders before the boy could whip around and try to get a better view, much like a dog chasing its tail. If he had done so, he would’ve knocked over half the items in the room. 

“Adam, you need to stay calm.” Michael felt like this was the five hundredth time he was making such a demand. Apparently Adam had inherited the Winchester trait to be impatient and react immediately to any sort of possible threat, whether it killed them to do so or not. 

“Stay calm? Right. Stay calm with a giant pair of wings growing from my back. That’s easy.” The sarcasm was almost visibly dripping from his lips. 

Michael couldn’t help but feel a little relieved when Adam’s snark returned; he’d been almost entirely silent this past week and so any form of attitude was almost a blessing. He brushed a fallen feather off the bed, not noticing Adam’s wide-eyed look at the silver, fluffy thing that was serving as a physical indication of the state he was in.

“Shit,” Adam said again. “I’m really...turned, aren’t I?”

Michael nodded slowly, unsure of where to begin. “Yes...it’s official, I’m afraid. You are no longer human.”

Adam opened his mouth but nothing came out except a little disbelieving gasp. The pain was visible in his eyes; not of physical pain, but mental – the fact that he was no longer a human being was something Michael wished Adam never had to witness or learn, but there was no stopping the grace from consuming his body without killing him. 

Before Adam could say anything, the door to the bedroom opened.

“Adam? We heard – holy crap!” 

Instinctively Adam whirled around at the sound of Dean’s voice, and before Michael had a chance to react (the eldest Winchester had caught him by surprise as well), Adam’s two right wings slammed into Dean, sending him flying into the far wall. He crashed against it with such force that the wood splintered and caved before he collapsed onto the floor, grunting in pain, his elbows and knees breaking his fall. 

“Dean! Shit, man, I’m sorry!” 

Adam made another motion to go check if Dean was okay but Michael stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Don’t move. You’re not used to using these new muscles. You could do more damage to the room.”

“To the _room?_ I just knocked a grown man into the friggin’ wall and made a hole the size of a small bear and you’re worried about the _room?_ ”

Michael sighed and gently moved Adam aside, wings and all, so he could walk past and crouch near Dean, who was slowly getting to his feet. Dean winced as he straightened up and his back cracked. He tried putting a good poker face on as he turned slowly and assessed the large hole in the wall behind him but Adam could see he was a little more than freaked out by the sudden demonstration of Adam’s new set of limbs.

With as straight a face as he could muster, Dean turned back to face Adam. “So the wings came in, I see.”

\---

“We can’t just keep him in here forever, Dean. He’s gotta go out sometime.” 

“What, with a fresh pair of archangel wings on his back?”

“He’ll learn how to hide them eventually. You heard Michael!”

“Oh yeah, Sammy. Let’s trust the word of the feathery douche bag who got him stuck down there in the first place!”

“Why would he lie about that? It’s such a small thing...”

“You don’t think it’s suspicious that Michael shows up – _out of Hell_ – with Adam, and all of a sudden Adam’s got a freakin’ pair of wings and Gabriel’s grace inside him?”

Sam sighed and rubbed his face in his hands tiredly. He and Dean had been butting heads back and forth for the better part of an hour in Bobby’s kitchen. It was nearing two in the morning and they were the only ones awake as far as they knew. Bobby had fallen asleep on the couch about an hour ago while Michael was upstairs with Adam – not exactly asleep, per se, but he was out of earshot (or at least Sam hoped, otherwise that would make for one awkward conversation later). 

Sam grabbed the half empty bottle of beer that sat on the kitchen table in front of him; the condensation on the glass cooled his fingertips and relaxed him a bit as he took a giant swig. Dean watched him from his spot leaning against the counter, his own (fourth) beer in his hand, looking at Sam expectantly, like he was waiting for him to agree that Michael’s actions were, in and of itself, suspicious. 

“What’re you trying to say, Dean?” Sam asked, sliding the beer back and forth along the table to make a light scraping sound. 

“I’m saying,” Dean said lowly, “that I think there’s something else going on here that Mike isn’t telling us.”

“I’m sure there’s a hell of a lot he’s not telling us. Problem is, he doesn’t have to.”

“Oh no?”

“No. At least, that’s how he feels.” Sam caught the murderous look on Dean’s face and rolled his eyes. “Dean, he’s the eldest archangel. You think he’d bother listening to us if we tried to reason with him or ask him what’s what?”

“No, but who said anything about reasoning?”

“Dean—”

“Look all I’m saying is that I don’t like what’s going on here. Adam’s been in excruciating pain for a week and there’s nothing we can do about it. Michael’s kicked us out from his room, Sam, doesn’t that bother you? He’s alone up there with Adam. Who knows what he could be doing—”

Sam cocked an eyebrow as he interrupted Dean. “You’re worried that he’s...he’s using Adam?”

“Not just using.” Bobby’s voice made both brothers jump where they were resting but they turned in his direction. He was sitting up on the couch rubbing his eyes, apparently having just woken up from a restless nap. “Turning into a weapon.”

Sam scoffed before looking over at Dean and catching the serious look on his face. “You’re not serious. Really? Adam as a weapon?”

“Gabriel wasn’t just a trickster, Sam. He was a powerful archangel before he left Heaven. I’ve been doing some reading—” No surprises there, as Bobby was always reading these days, “—and he was a messenger of God. He’d deliver visions to prophets so they could spread the good word and whatnot. He’s the one who foretold the birth of John the Baptist and Jesus Christ.”

“So?” Sam asked.

“So Gabriel obviously knows the contents of the visions he delivers. Michael could be using Adam – trying to gain an edge in the war against Lucifer. If Michael knows the outcome from Gabriel, he can be better prepared for the imminent battle.”

“Turning Adam into the next Gabriel just to kill Lucifer?” Sam shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What makes you say that?” Dean asked as he sat down in the chair across from Sam.

“Because,” Sam said as he turned his back to the wall so he could address both Bobby and Dean, “when I was stuck inside my body with Lucifer at the driver’s wheel, I heard everything he and Michael were saying to each other. Neither of them wanted to hurt or kill the other one, and the only reason Michael was doing so was because—”

“Michael’s the good son,” Dean finished. “Always followed Dad’s orders.”

Sam glanced over at Dean, frowning, and said, “Yeah, exactly. Michael wouldn’t turn against his brothers or do anything to sour their name unless God commanded it. And, well, as far as we know, He hasn’t told Michael to use Gabriel’s powers to kill Lucifer.”

“He wouldn’t be hurting Gabriel because the poor sap’s dead,” Dean snapped. “So what’s stopping him from transferring his grace into Adam like some kind of sick archangel IV?”

“He’d be tainting Gabriel’s name and memory,” Sam said, his voice growing a little louder as he tried to argue against Dean. “That’s not in Michael’s character.”

“Oh, and you know Michael so well, do you?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. Or did you forget how much quality time he and I spent together?”

“All right you two, that’s enough!” Bobby shouted from the other room.

Sam was breathing hard through his nose as he stared Dean down. The elder brother was looking at him with a mix of pain and distress; clearly he hadn’t meant for the conversation to take such a drastic turn away from the actual issue at hand. He, of course, hadn’t forgotten Sam’s time in Hell with Lucifer, Michael, and Adam, but he’d been under the impression that he’d spent his time with Lucifer, never with Michael. Why it didn’t occur to Dean that the four of them would inevitably intermingle, he didn’t know. 

“Now, if you’re done bickering like two old hags in a nursing home, I think we have some current issues we need to address,” Bobby said as he stomped over to the kitchen table, boots making the floor rumble just a little bit. “Now for one thing, Sam’s right, Dean. We can’t keep Adam in here. The poor kid hasn’t had any fresh air in a week. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t claustrophobic by now.”

“He can’t go walking around with a pair of wings sticking out of his back,” Dean snapped.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Bobby snorted. “He’ll learn how to hide them. We’re far enough away from prying eyes where he’ll be able to wander around the salvage yard in peace until he learns how to fold them away.”

Sam nodded absentmindedly, hand gripping the beer bottle a little tighter than normal. Bobby cast him a concerned look and cocked an eyebrow. “You all right there, son?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Because you look like you could get some rest.”

“I said I’m fine, Bobby, thanks.”

Sam pushed his chair back and lifted the beer bottle to his lips to drain the last few drops before saying, “I’ll be in the basement.”

“Doing what?” Dean asked.

“Cleaning guns!” Sam shouted over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. 

Dean sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, exasperated. “Is it just me or are you worried about him too, Bobby?”

The old man scoffed. “Which ‘him’ are you referring to? Sam or Adam?”

“Good point.”

\---

How the hell Adam was supposed to leave the bedroom without knocking a wing-shaped hole in the walls was a complete mystery that lasted for a few hours the following day. At long last, Bobby came up with a solution when he sacrificed the large window frame embedded in the wall and had Michael tear the whole thing down to make way for Adam, who stood framed in the empty hole, staring down into the salvage yard from the second floor. Below him Bobby, Sam, and Dean watched, all of them looking up with their hands shielding their eyes from the afternoon sun. 

Adam felt like he should give some kind of halfhearted wave but was interrupted from the thought by Michael, who stood behind him and said, “Today should be a big day.”

“What, the fact that I’m finally going outside?” Adam asked. It sure as hell felt like a big deal, like Adam had forgotten how sweet the taste of fresh air could be. Hell, the breeze blowing through his hair felt beautiful. He was turning into a sap. God help him.

Michael nodded. “Your wings are all grown in, you’re able to move them at will now, and you can go outside.” He turned to look at Adam, who could’ve sworn he saw a hint of deviousness in his eyes. “Now it’s time to learn to fly.”

“Fly?” Adam swallowed. “You can’t be serious. I only just learned how to move my two left wings and you want me to try and fly today?”

“It’s an innate knowledge. You’ll be in the air in no time.”

“It’s innate for angels but not for humans. I wasn’t _born_ with these wings, Michael, I grew them.”

“Still, the knowledge is in the grace. You’ll do fine, I’m sure.”

“I don’t think—”

But what Adam thought was apparently uninteresting to Michael because the archangel merely put two hands behind him and shoved him off the edge of the house.


	4. A Little More

The sensation of weightlessness comforted Adam for only a few brief moments before panic set in and he began the inevitable tumble down to the ground. Adam flailed his arms wildly as he free fell and tried mentally reciting what to do to prevent serious damage to himself: bend the knees, land on your feet, drop and roll once you hit the ground, just don’t drop too hard or you might break an ankle...

His wings were utterly useless, flapping limply behind him, as he had no idea how to use the extra hundred or so new muscles. 

Fuck innate knowledge. This was suicide.

And then suddenly, by some miracle, a gust of wind blew through the salvage yard and helped buoy Adam, helping him hover in the air a good five feet from the ground. He stared down at Bobby and the Winchesters wide-eyed before he dropped the rest of the way, landing on his feet lightly. He stumbled to the side a bit, caught off guard again by the heavy unfamiliar weight of his wings, and in doing so he nearly collided with Michael, who suddenly appeared beside him.

“The hell was that?” Bobby demanded angrily as he stormed towards them. “Did you just _jump_ out of the damn house?”

“Yes, Bobby, because I have that high of an expectation of how well I can fly on the first go,” Adam snapped, his feathers unwittingly ruffled in annoyance. He jabbed a finger in Michael’s direction. “This asshole shoved me out.”

“I was simply teaching him how to fly,” Michael said calmly in response to everyone’s looks of incredulity. “In Heaven this was how I taught my brothers and sisters to do so. Their natural instincts would take over and they would learn how to fly almost immediately.”

“Except Adam _has_ no natural instinct with flying. He’s not an angel, Michael, he’s always been a human,” Sam explained, trying to be gently with him. “You can’t just...surprise him like that.”

Michael stood in thought, pondering the situation silently to himself. He wasn’t used to being reprimanded, least of all by a human, and part of him wanted to throw Sam across the yard to teach him respect. On the other hand, when he looked over at Adam, at the pure terror that was still a ghost of an expression on his face, he grudgingly accepted that they were right. Tossing Adam out of a second floor room wasn’t the same as nudging someone like Castiel off of a cloud. Still...

“I didn’t let him hurt himself,” Michael extended by way of a peace offering. “If that stills your anger any.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“The wind,” Adam breathed, coming to the realization quicker than anyone else. “The wind. That was your doing, wasn’t it?”

Michael nodded slowly, a small smile growing on his face. “You didn’t think I’d simply let you drop like a rock, did you?”

The obvious answer – _yes_ – went unsaid, but Michael didn’t seem offended by everybody’s hesitation. He knew as well as they did that he would be difficult to trust for the time being and so he simply took the fact that they weren’t trying to send him off with a Banishing Sigil as a sign of good faith. It was more than he could’ve asked for, truthfully. 

“Oh, well, thank God we have the gracious archangel on our side,” Dean said with a perfectly timed roll of his eyes. He shot Sam a look of pure annoyance before uncrossing his arms and taking long, purposeful strides over to the garage, no doubt where his precious Impala was stored. Bobby shook his head once and followed, and it looked as though Sam wanted to stay behind and say something to Adam and Michael, perhaps give a few words of advice or comfort, but he sensed that the two of them needed to talk and so he hesitantly left them and headed for the house.

Michael took a deep breath and turned to face Adam. “You’re angry,” he guessed.

Adam shrugged one shoulder and felt his wings move with the motion. “That you shoved me out of the second floor without a warning, yeah. But you saved me before I landed, so—”

Michael chuckled unexpectedly and Adam stared. “What’s so funny?”

“I only said that so your brothers wouldn’t make such a fuss over what really happened.” Michael looked at Adam with a little twinkle in his eye. “That was you, Adam, not me. You didn’t fly properly, but you pushed the wind into carrying you so you wouldn’t fall.”

Adam stared at him, heart hammering. “But I don’t know how to...to control the wind.”

“Like I said, I did this to my own siblings in Heaven. It’s a natural instinct.” He grinned. “I told you that you’d pick up on it.”

...Stupid Michael, that arrogant ass.

\---

Apparently it was much easier for Adam to learn to control the elements than it was for him to learn how to operate eight hundred new muscles. By the middle of the week he was able to make it rain indoors, something he tested out by surprising Dean in the middle of his nighttime beer while he sat cozy in the kitchen. The results were satisfactory, and that included Dean’s angry shouting while Adam hid in the basement.

He’d learned to fold his wings back the day before that and was taking full advantage of the fact that he could walk around like a normal person again. It took a lot of concentration and the first time he’d folded his wings into the skin on his back, he’d been so relieved and exhausted that he’d passed out. Michael had been there in an instant, reviving and rejuvenating him with a single touch. 

The night Adam learned to fly, he and Michael had the house to themselves. Castiel had been more than distant lately and though Adam had no idea why, he did know that this was the reason that Sam, Dean, and Bobby decided to pack up one night and hit the road without saying exactly where they were going or what they were doing. It seemed that, for all the harping they did on how Adam was part of the family, they still didn’t seem too keen on trusting him. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was so close to Michael nowadays, and it was _him_ they didn’t trust, as if Adam would turn and divulge all their secrets to his best friend the Prince of Heaven.

It was nearing midnight and Adam and Michael were outside in the salvage yard trying to fly. Michael, of course, was doing so flawlessly, unfolding his brilliant white wings for Adam to see in the moonlight as he flew straight into the air and perched in a nearby tree. 

Adam glared up at him from his spot on the ground, hands balled into loose fists at his sides. “Show off.”

Michael chuckled and leaned against a branch with his arms crossed over his chest, ever so casual. “Come up here, then. It’s quite a view.”

“Am I allowed to climb?”

“No. Fly.”

Adam sighed and rolled his shoulders back, cracking his spine a bit as he did so. He always had to limber himself up before unfolding his wings; his body was still unused to the extra weight, ligaments, and muscles, and so if he simply unfolded them without some kind of stretch, he’d be in pain for hours. With a quick ruffle of his feathers, he closed his eyes and squeezed them in concentration, attempting to flap his wings. He didn’t care how ridiculous he looked because he knew Michael wouldn’t tease him about it. If Dean were here, on the other hand, it would be a whole different ballgame. 

At first his wings only gave a little shiver and then sort of puttered out when he broke concentration. He tried again, this time dedicating his every thought and brain cell to making his wings flap. He imagined and tried to feel the invisible connection between his wings and his mind, tried to command them to move. When they did, he almost had a heart attack as he left his feet leave the ground and he was airborne for a few seconds before touching back down.

“Did you see that?” Adam asked excitedly. “I mean, I didn’t fly exactly, but I hovered!”

Michael smiled at him from his perch in the tree, his wings outstretched to their full length so he could let them breathe and relax after being stuck in his back for so long. “I saw. That’s good progress, Adam. You just need a little more juice now.”

“A little more juice. Got it.”

He tried again, imagining the weightless feeling from only moments before, and this time it was easier for him to flap his wings and take off at a slow, steady pace, rising from the ground for only inches at first, which then turned into a foot, which turned into a few feet, which...

“Michael,” Adam gasped as he looked down at the ground several feet below him. “I’m actually – whoa!” He lost concentration for a moment and dropped down viciously but regained control. “I’m doing it!”

He was nearly eye-level with Michael in the tree; he only had to fly a few feet higher and he would be able to reach him. He flew towards the tree carefully, angling himself like Superman so he could easily grab onto a branch. 

Only problem? He didn’t know yet how to maneuver around tree branches, especially in midair and _especially_ with enormous wings on his back. He tried to fly closer to Michael but his wings kept getting caught on the branches until he somehow managed to get some of the feathers stuck.

“Ow! Fuck, these things are really sensitive,” Adam grumbled as he lighted on a branch and tried turning to detangle his left wing.

“They are as important a part of our bodies as the heart. And yes, they are very sensitive to touch.” Michael jumped down to Adam’s branch gracefully, folding his wings into his back as he did so, so he wouldn’t get tangled too. “Hold on to me.”

Adam frowned but saw where Michael was indicating to his waist. He wrapped an arm around Michael’s waist as the archangel reached up with his left arm to hold onto the upper branch while his right arm extended towards Adam’s stuck wing, working on detangling it singlehandedly. He tried not to let the feathers snag, but on occasion one of them would catch onto twigs and Adam would wince and tighten his grip on Michael’s shirt. Michael couldn’t help but smile a bit as he spoke. “You’re doing very well so far, by the way. I’m surprised you were able to make your way up here so quickly.”

“Yeah, well,” Adam said with a grimace; Michael had untangled another feather, “I pick up on things pretty quickly, believe it or not.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“Oh. Right.” 

The whole former vessel thing hadn’t quite sunk into Adam’s mind yet. He forgot that Michael knew him better than anybody – perhaps even better than he knew himself. Lord knows there were things inside Adam’s head that even he didn’t want to go near, but he figured Michael had been inside him for so long that he’d picked and prodded at things untouched for years. 

Michael finished detaching the feathers from the branch and Adam immediately folded them back. A great weight was lifted from him as the wings disappeared and fused into his skin, as they were wont to do. 

“Better?” Michael asked.

Adam nodded. “Much.”

He was still wrapped around Michael’s waist, his face pressing into his shoulder as he tried not to look down. Now that his wings were folded back, he was scared of falling out of the tree. He hadn’t yet tested pulling his wings out in mid-fall and he wasn’t too keen on trying it now in the dark. 

Michael didn’t seemed bothered by the closeness; in fact, he asked, “Would you like to get down?”

Adam nodded fervently and Michael chuckled before grabbing Adam around his hips and leaping from the tree. Adam let out a surprised noise halfway between a gasp and a yelp, but Michael’s wings were out and they simply drifted down to the ground. They released each other once both of Adam’s feet were planted firmly on the ground. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Michael asked with what Adam thought was a teasing grin.

Adam lightly shoved Michael’s shoulder by way of response. “Says you. You’ve been doing this for millennia. It’s easy for you.”

Michael continued to smile and sat down cross-legged on the dirt. Adam hesitated before joining him. It would’ve been nicer to sit inside the house, but it was a cool night and the sky was clear enough where Adam could see the stars above them. He leaned back on his hands and looked up, trying to sound as casual as possible when he asked the question that had been festering in his mind since day one. “Why did you save me?”

Michael pretended not to hear the question, instead opting to look up at the sky as well, but Adam repeated himself louder and the archangel couldn’t pretend any longer.

“I saved you because you were never meant to be down there with me,” Michael said softly, not looking Adam in the eye. “You were a victim of circumstance, Adam. You didn’t deserve any of the horrors you were put through.”

Adam’s jaw tightened. “You abandoned me first,” he said accusingly.

Michael’s gaze snapped from the sky to Adam and he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Is that what you wish to talk about? How I shed you as a vessel?”

Adam nodded. “You said before that you didn’t do it because I was holding you back, and I can’t think of any other reason for you to just leave my body, so what was it?”

Michael sighed long and hard before he lifted his head and looked Adam in the eyes. “I left you,” he said slowly, carefully, “because I wanted you to be safe.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Adam couldn’t resist the wry chuckle that bubbled up in his throat. “Come on now. Safe? You left me in the Stratum for me to rot!”

“I don’t know what happened to you down there, Adam, and for that I’m truly sorry. I had no idea what kind of horrors I was casting you into, but Lucifer...” Michael sighed and his face darkened at the name, “...Lucifer was attacking you. Attacking us. He’d abandoned Sam as a vessel and was mercilessly charging me while in your body, which was taking almost all of the damage. I thought...I thought that by casting you off as my vessel, I was protecting you from Lucifer.” 

If Adam didn’t know any better, he’d say that Michael’s eyes were shinier than usual, filling with the beginnings of tears. _Can angels cry?_ Adam wondered.

He didn’t get a chance to ask; Michael continued. “What did I send you into?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Adam swallowed hard. He knew they’d have to approach the subject eventually, and it was only Gabriel’s grace that was keeping him from completely falling apart as he sifted through his leftover memories of the Cage and dredged up that one word, that one name that made him scream at night and tremble during the day. 

“Toretan. Toretan was there.”

As Adam had expected, the name had no effect on Michael whatsoever. The archangel simply cocked his head to the side slightly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Toretan? What is that?”

“A demon. A filthy, disgusting...” Adam could feel bile in his throat, taste it. He paused and tried to gain control over his churning stomach before continuing. “He lives down in the Stratum. Kind of rules over it, actually. He was down there with me the whole time.”

“And what did this Toretan do to you?”

Adam wrapped his right hand around his left wrist and squeezed tightly, trying to hold himself together as he remembered the white hot pain, heard his own screams echoing in his ears, Toretan’s laughter, the taste of blood and ash in his mouth strong with memory. 

“He did what any demon would do to the archangel’s precious vessel. He tortured me.” Adam looked at Michael, blue eyes holding onto the green. “Or, if you wanna get into specifics...he tortured my soul. He...he pulled my soul out of my body, messed with it, cut it up, ripped pieces of it off, and put it all back together and back in my body. Every day. Until you came.”

Michael blanched. “Adam,” he breathed. “I didn’t know...I’m so sorry...” It would’ve been one thing for Toretan to simply rip Adam’s body to pieces on a daily basis, but for the demon to even think about touching Adam’s soul... “I had no idea something like him existed at all, let alone lived down there,” Michael continued quietly, his voice strained and laced with regret. “I would never have abandoned your body had I known...”

Adam nodded absentmindedly, eyes on his shoes. “I know you wouldn’t have. Or at least, I hope not.” The joke was lost when Michael caught his gaze, looking so horribly saddened that Adam likened him to a kicked puppy. “Hey, I’m serious.”

“You have changed,” Michael observed quietly, looking up at Adam through the dark lashes of his fabricated vessel.

Adam cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Two weeks ago you would’ve tried to hit me if I so much as hinted that I’d abandoned you. You _did_ yell at me quite a bit at first. I was wondering if and when physical violence would come into play. But now...” he indicated Adam’s outwardly calm demeanor. “You seem...less angry with me.”

“I spent more than enough time in the Cage being angry with you,” Adam admitted. The taste of bile was slowly fading away and he was able to speak with a clear head. “I was angry with a lot of people in the Cage. You. John Winchester. Sam and Dean. Zachariah. But when I was with Toretan...I dunno. It seemed almost silly to be holding onto those old feelings when there was something bigger in front of me.”

He remembered what Michael had said weeks prior, about Adam not being his primary responsibility. In truth, believing that Adam was always backseat in Michael’s mind was painful, but now it sounded as though that itself had been a lie. 

“Michael,” Adam said, choosing his words carefully, “you know you could’ve just let Lucifer rip me apart and left me down there.”

Michael looked appalled at the suggestion. “You say that like you wish that’s what I’d done.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Adam said with a shake of his head. “I just meant...why did you bother?”

“Saving you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Because it was the right thing to do.” Michael spoke as if to a small child.

“Uh-huh. That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

He was lying. Adam knew it, sensed the hesitation in his voice, the little jump in his tone. “Come on, Mike,” he said, reverting to the hated nickname just to tick him off. “You can tell me.”

Michael stared at him blankly. “I do not want to.”

“Tough shit.” He caught the surprised look on Michael’s face but kept going. “You’ve been hiding something from me since day one and I’m not gonna drop it until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I am not obligated to disclose anything to you, Adam, least of all what happened in the Cage that influenced my saving you.”

“As an archangel, no, you’re not obligated. I get that. But as my fucking _friend_ , Michael, you are.”

Michael’s breath hitched in his throat when he heard the word they’d been skipping around since they’d surfaced from Hell together; since they’d first started to ‘sort of’ get along with each other. He never expected Adam to consider him as anything but an archangel, a guardian for when things were looking rough on the outside. The most Michael ever expected them to become was acquaintances, and that in and of itself seemed too close of a term to use in casual conversation. But there it was. Adam had said it first. Friend. They were friends. 

It was that single word that loosened Michael’s otherwise stoic exterior. He sighed and tried to unscramble the puzzle of words in his head, threatening to drown him in whatever kind of miserable drivel he’d gotten himself into. 

“Adam,” Michael began, “you have to understand...this isn’t something I’d planned on telling you...”

Adam didn’t interrupt, merely sat there as he brought his knees up and wrapped his arms around his legs. It was like Michael was telling him some kind of twisted bedtime story filled with all the demons and creatures that they’d tried so hard to leave behind in the Cage. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? The Cage was inside them, in both of them, and there was no amount of grace that could fully heal or fix the wounds that it left behind on them. Forever scarred, somewhat fixed, but the cracks would always show and there was no way to completely cover them up. 

But that was the nice thing about this, wasn’t it? It was having two broken things put together to make one whole broken thing. Because then, and at least then, they would always have each other.

Michael realized all of this and suddenly feared that what he had been about to say could ruin everything. What Adam had just called a friendship between them Michael was happy to acknowledge, but it could so easily be damaged by a few simple words. 

Adam raised an eyebrow when Michael didn’t continue. “Mike? You okay there?”

The archangel snapped back to reality with the blink of an eye. “We are friends, Adam, yes?” The human nodded slowly and Michael tried to put on his best poker face. “Then that is why I saved you.”

“Oh, come on,” Adam snapped. “That’s such bullshit.”

“Is it?” Michael could feel his cheeks burning with red frustration. Why couldn’t he just take things at face value and leave well enough alone? Damn Winchester genetics...

“It is. We both know there’s something more to it than that. I wouldn’t even do that for a _best_ friend, let alone a friend. Besides, we weren’t exactly on the best of terms at that point, remember? We were separated.”

“I couldn’t just leave my vessel down there.” Michael tried another approach – that of the dutiful soldier who was obligated to drag his equipment around wherever he went.

Adam didn’t fall for that either. “Are we seriously gonna play twenty questions? Or can you just man up and tell me the truth?”

When Michael looked into Adam’s eyes, genuine hurt was there, pain at the thought that Adam didn’t deserve the truth from someone whom he’d just called a friend. And it broke Michael.

“I saved you because you are...special,” Michael amended at the last second.

Adam stared. “Special,” he repeated monotonously. “You saved me because I was special.”

“ _Are_ special, Adam. Not past tense. You never stopped.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “You angels are so sappy. That still doesn’t explain anything.”

“How do you mean?”

“What makes me special? What made me so goddamn different that you’d risk attack from Lucifer to break me out with you? That you wouldn’t dare drop me or leave me behind when it was convenient for you to just let me go?”

Michael shook his head. “I’d rather not—”

“Well, you are.”

Michael growled a little and shot to his feet so quickly Adam almost got whiplash trying to follow the motion with his head. “I do not have to sit here and take this. I’ll be in the house if you need me.”

He turned around purposefully, heels digging into the dirt and crushing the pebbles underneath his shoes as he stormed towards Bobby’s house. Adam chased after him, calling out, “Hey, Michael! Dickwad, come back here!”

He reached the archangel before he could ascend the porch steps and grabbed onto Michael’s elbow. “Michael, come on—”

Michael whirled around with such force that Adam flinched backwards, face scrunched up as he prepared for a blow to the face. He’d already witnessed Michael’s anger once before when he merely verbally goaded him on; touching him was probably worth a good roundhouse kick into the nearest vehicle.

The resulting kiss was hard and rough and unexpected, with Michael’s lips moving against Adam’s so fervently that Adam thought his mouth had caught fire. His eyes widened and his hands scrambled to grab Michael’s shoulders to shove him away, but when Michael angled his head down to deepen the kiss and opened his mouth slightly and the first moan ripped from Adam’s throat, he could only grasp at the shirt material with his fingers and hold on with a white-knuckled grip. Michael’s hands found their way around Adam’s slim waist and slipped under his shirt, fingers digging into the small of his back as he gripped him tight, and Adam’s hands moved up from the archangel’s shirt to his neck where he caressed gently, a stark contrast to the violence of the kiss. 

Adam had no idea what the hell was going on. Not that he actually cared at the moment. 

... _Fuck_ , Michael was a good kisser.


	5. Lasting First Impression

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the first words out of Michael’s mouth when they broke the kiss, breathing hard, faces flushed, lips slightly swollen. 

Adam panted a little and pressed his forehead against Michael’s. “The hell are you sorry for?”

Michael’s hands tightened around Adam but his face remained calm. “I should not have done that. It was a mistake.”

“A...a mistake?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “Well then by all means, keep making more of them.”

Michael made an irritated noise low in his throat and stepped away from Adam, releasing him and shaking his head. “No. This isn’t right. Neither of us should want this. Myself especially.”

“Why not?”

“Forgive me. I must go to seek Revelation.”

But Michael disappeared in a flutter of wings, leaving Adam alone outside the house.

\---

Michael still wasn’t back from Heaven when Sam, Dean, and Bobby arrived back at the house in the early morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise. Adam had fallen asleep on the couch next to the window, a thin blanket covering his body and one arm thrown over his eyes to shield them from the light. 

Like the loving brother he was, Dean kicked Adam awake. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

Adam woke with a jolt and nearly fell off the couch. He looked around wildly before opening his mouth to deliver what would’ve been a worthy Milligan retort, but he caught the look on Dean’s face and stopped. His oldest brother looked...crestfallen. Broken. Torn down the middle. Whatever kind of poetic term Adam tried to slapped onto it, there was one thing he knew for sure: something had gone wrong with whatever they’d been doing. 

“Dean,” Adam breathed as he sat up on his elbows. “What...what the hell happened?”

Over in the kitchen, and out of Adam’s line of vision, Bobby chuckled, a low and humorless sound that made Adam shift uncomfortably. “Well that’s just it, ain’t it? Hell happened.”

Adam shook his head, clearing all the cloudy visions from his nightmares away as best he could. “Come again? Hell happened?”

“It’s Cas,” Dean said. He’d turned his face away from Adam, who had the sneaking suspicion that he was trying to mask the pain he’d caught earlier. Too late for that, to be honest. “Cas is...” He trailed off and for a moment Adam thought he wasn’t going to continue, but then he said, “Cas isn’t with us anymore.”

“He’s not dead,” Bobby amended, catching the horrified look that crossed Adam’s face. “He’s alive and well. Too damn well, in fact.”

“I...I don’t get it. What’s going on with Cas?”

Dean didn’t respond but merely studied the wallpaper on Bobby’s wall as if it was the most goddamned interesting wallpaper he’d ever seen in his life. Bobby watched him, eyes never wavering from his face, and nobody answered Adam until Sam stepped into the living room, arms crossed over his chest and looking equally as grim as everyone else. Adam swallowed hard. This wasn’t like Sam; he was so used to the cheerful and upbeat attitude that kept the dysfunctional family somewhat functional, and this completely threw Adam out of his comfort zone. 

When he spoke, it didn’t make the youngest Winchester feel any better.

“Adam,” Sam began, his voice low and rough, “have you ever heard of Purgatory?”

\---

Michael found Castiel exactly where he expected the angel to be: sitting on that bench in the park, looking up at the sky, waiting for an answer that would never come no matter how hard he prayed. It saddened Michael to see one of his brothers in such a desperate state, but to hear about his course of action, about his ‘tryst’ with the demon Crowley, about his intentions for Purgatory... it almost angered him more than it upset him. 

Almost. Not quite. Castiel was still Michael’s brother and the archangel loved him and always would love him. It ran in the same vein as Michael’s love for Lucifer, albeit not as deeply, but no matter what mistakes the two of them made, they were still family. And it was always about family.

Michael approached the bench from behind, hands clasped behind his back as he watched Castiel’s head fall forward in despair. He didn’t know if the angel would hear him approaching or not, but he stood that way in silence for a few more seconds before announcing himself.

“You wanted to talk to me, Castiel?” Michael said. 

Castiel didn’t even react. He sat there, stilled for a moment, before Michael heard him reply, “Yes. Thank you for obliging.”

“I’m always here for you, whenever you need me.” Michael walked around the bench and waited for Castiel to scoot over so he could sit down next to him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees in a similar manner as the lower-ranking angel next to him. “What’s been troubling you?”

“You have.” The words were not unkind, but there was something deeply disturbing about the way Castiel narrowed his eyes as he spoke, about the way the muscles in his jaw tightened, the way his knuckles turned white as he clenched his hands once. 

Michael waited a beat of silence before saying, “Whatever I’ve done to upset you, I apologize.” He paused. “Is this about Adam? About the grace? Do you think I attached the two on purpose, like the Winchesters do?”

“The boy has nothing to do with us.”

“The boy has a name.” Michael said it without quite thinking. 

Castiel turned his head to look at Michael, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, lips pursed. “Why the hostility, Michael? Why so defensive? Because he was once your vessel?”

“You wanted to talk.” Michael deftly skirted the subject. “Please, by all means, speak your piece, brother.” 

The other angel shook his head slowly, as if calculating what should and shouldn’t be said in Michael’s presence. Eventually, he spoke with all the caution of someone waiting to be hit for speaking blasphemy: “I understand by now you’ve probably heard of my plans concerning Purgatory.” Michael nodded once. He continued. “I am only doing so for the good of Heaven, for the good of the Earth. Raphael is too narrow-minded, too traditionalist. He plans on restarting the Apocalypse, on pitting you and Lucifer against each other once he breaks Lucifer free from the Cage again.” Castiel caught his eye. “And you know he will, especially now that you’re walking the Earth again. Now he knows there are...defects in the Cage’s design. He will study these defects, find them, use them to free Lucifer.”

“There are no defects in the Cage. I built it myself,” Michael interrupted without thinking. “I escaped because I know the design like I know Heaven’s architecture. It is ingrained within me, always present. If there are flaws, they are there because I put them there should there ever be need for them.”

“And you don’t think after thousands of years that Lucifer could discover these ‘flaws’ as well?”

“It is highly unlikely.”

Castiel shook his head and said, “Sometimes your arrogance astounds me, Michael.”

It should’ve been an insult, but Michael merely brushed it off as one would a feather. “You don’t understand it. You never will.”

“But I understand that we cannot allow this Apocalypse to happen,” Castiel hissed under his breath. His eyes were alight with an inner fire. “The world will be devastated, Michael. This world that our Father created, that He put all His love and care into fashioning. He loves these humans so much, and to watch His sons bring them to ruination is something I cannot bear to witness.”

“Castiel—”

“I realize what I say could be considered blasphemous, especially in your presence, because I know you believe it your duty to follow our Father’s word. But please Michael, you must listen to reason. You mustn’t fight Lucifer.”

“ _Castiel._ ” Michael spoke louder, trying to catch the angel’s attention. “I have no desire to fight Lucifer. At least, not on this battleground.”

He expected Castiel to look relieved, overjoyed, not confused. His eyebrows furrowed together even more, if possible, and he looked positively wounded. “Why the change of mind?” he asked. “The last time we met, you were so...” he searched for the phrase, no doubt channeling Dean when he said, “...gung-ho about the whole thing.”

The corners of Michael’s lips twisted up in a knowing smile. “Yes, I suppose I did seem very intent on fighting my brother.” He sighed. “Things change, Castiel. People change. I changed.”

“Explain.”

Michael sat in thought for a moment, weighing his words carefully should he say something he didn’t want to give away just yet. “I inhabited Adam’s body in the Cage for a few decades before leaving him.” The memory of Adam’s description of Toretan was seared permanently in the archangel’s mind but he bit back a shudder of revulsion and carried on. “I am sure you know what I mean when I say that after certain lengths of time, you start becoming one with your vessel.”

Castiel predictably nodded understanding. He had been using Jimmy Novak as a vessel for so long now that he sometimes felt overpowered by some of Jimmy’s leftover thoughts, feelings, desires, emotions... Jimmy Novak was dead, but Castiel could still sometimes feel his essence, pieces of him, squirming around in the back of his mind. 

Michael was still talking: “Adam is... a strong human. Very strong. He never stopped trying to overpower me, to throw me out of his body and regain control. I was overwhelmed on a few occasions and he almost succeeded at first, but I began to learn his ways and mannerisms and I was able to defend myself before he finally retreated.” Michael swallowed hard. “But when he retreated, he still talked to me. Told me things. Talked about Sam and Dean, about Bobby, about his life before the Winchesters and before the ghouls.” His throat began to close up and he didn’t quite know why. “He told me stories about his childhood and how sometimes Kate Milligan would come home from work early in the mornings but she would leave a cupcake or some sort of other treat for him to wake up to on the kitchen table. He talked about his best friends, his relationships, the places he’d been and the people he’d met and seen. It was like listening to a story and painting a picture in my own mind, and I quite liked what I saw.”

“He taught you,” Castiel breathed.

Michael nodded with his eyes closed. “He was simply passing the time, but he opened my eyes to the world and its possibilities. I’d known humans were precious beings, of course. Why else would Father have us love them more than Him? But it’s been so hard these past few decades here, seeing all the war and carnage and destruction on a daily basis... one almost loses faith in this race.”

Castiel nodded but stayed silence. He’d sometimes all but given up hope where the humans were concerned, but something always kept him hanging on. Always. 

“But when Adam talked about his life, everything was as it should be,” Michael said. “Happiness. Tranquility. Peace. Even the sour parts were still laced with bits of sweetness.”

“There is always light in the darkness,” Castiel said with the barest hint of a smile. “Without it, we would lose hope entirely. We’d have nothing to fight for, no cause to strengthen, no banner to hold high.”

Michael nodded, returning Castiel’s smile. “You’ve grown much since I’d last seen you, brother,” Michael said with a hint of sadness. “I am sorry I missed it.”

Castiel shook his head. “You’re here now. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m here, that’s true. I suppose Raphael won’t be too pleased to be... ah, knocked down a peg.” The smirk that crossed Michael’s face wasn’t unkind, merely amused. He knew that Raphael wouldn’t react too affectionately to his post as the figurehead of Heaven’s throne being taken out from under him, but he was sure that Raphael already knew Michael had returned and would expect to be evicted, in a way.

Castiel frowned. “Raphael will not give up his spot so easily, Michael. Once he hears of your choice to discontinue the fight, he will try to sway you. He will try to change your mind.”

“He won’t succeed. I promise you.” Michael caught the younger angel’s blue eyes. “And you must promise me to stop the search for Purgatory. Cut your ties with Crowley while you still can, before you get too involved. I am here now, Castiel. You don’t need to continue carrying this burden alone.”

Castiel’s jaw tightened considerably. “I’m sorry Michael. I can’t do that.”

“And why not?” Michael asked.

Castiel shook his head and sighed, a sound so low and distraught that Michael scooted closer to him on the bench and leaned forward a little bit more to listen to him as he mumbled, “It is not something I expect you to understand. You are far more powerful and much older than I am. It will be hard for you to...sympathize. And in any case, it is of no import.”

“Your problems are always important to me. You are my brother, Castiel. No matter what you tell me, I’ll understand. I of all people know about others misunderstanding one’s own motives.”

But Castiel continued to shake his head. “No. You go take care of Raphael. I will handle Crowley and Purgatory.”

Michael frowned and tried to control the righteous spark in his eye. He didn’t want to lash out at Castiel, least of all now when he seemed so hurt and vulnerable, but he was being so stubborn right now. “You will regret this, you know. Nothing good will come out of this, whatever your reasoning is.”

“I know what I am doing, Michael. I assure you.”

“Castiel, no.”

Before Castiel could respond, a crack of lightning split the sky above them in half. Neither of them jumped or seemed particularly surprised when a female figure appeared a little further down the slope from them in front of the bench. She was dressed in what was probably a designer suit and pair of shoes because that was just how their brother was.

“Raphael.” Michael stood from the bench, heart pounding, unsure whether the lump in his throat was due to brotherly love and ecstasy at seeing him again, or uneasiness because of the look Raphael was shooting him. “Brother. I’ve... missed you.”

‘Missed’ was probably too kind of a word to use, but for the moment Michael couldn’t think of a better synonym. 

“You escaped the Cage,” Raphael said, clasping her – his, whatever – hands behind her back and interlocking her fingers together. “I am pleased to see you.”

“Pleased because one half of your plan is now free to walk the Earth again?” Michael asked, cocking an eyebrow. He motioned behind him to Castiel. “Castiel told me you plan to release Lucifer from the Cage to join me here, to restart the Apocalypse.”

“It must be done and you know it,” Raphael said impassively. “Our Father has commanded it and you know it will come to pass. It must come to pass. It is destiny.”

“Destiny has already been thwarted once.”

“But the chances of the Winchesters succeeding a second time? I doubt it. This is our chance, Michael, to shape the world in Heaven’s shadow. To bring peace to this planet so awash in evil and despair. We can begin to cleanse the Earth.”

Michael swallowed hard and clenched his fists at his sides before turning slightly and looking over at Castiel, who was still sitting on the bench with his hands clasped on his lap. “Castiel, will you leave my brother and I for the moment?” In a lower voice, he mumbled, “But we _will_ speak again later. Do you understand?”

Castiel frowned but nodded and was gone in a flutter. 

As soon as the younger angel was gone, Michael rounded on Raphael. “You need to stop this,” he hissed. “I am no longer interested in fighting Lucifer. If there is to be a battle between us, it will not happen here. The humans here deserve to live their lives undisturbed.”

“They’ve been disturbing everything else on the planet. I’m sure they will eventually get over having their planet destroyed for the greater good.”

Michael frowned. Raphael was always stubborn, it was true, but he was never this bad. “You would destroy the creatures that Father once told us to love more than Him? You would ruin his most precious creations all for His word?”

“His word is law, Michael. You know that.”

“But perhaps this is a test. Perhaps you are wrong, and humans are more important than His word.”

“Perhaps _you_ are wrong and this is a test to weed those out who truly love Father, unconditionally and wholly.”

The two archangels stood there glaring at each other, each one refusing to yield to the other. Raphael released her hands and sighed, shaking her head slowly back and forth as though she were disappointed in her elder brother. “What’s gotten into you, Michael? You were one of us once.”

“I’m still one of you, Raphael. Just evolved.”

“I don’t see it that way. You’ve become soft. Like Castiel.” Raphael bared her teeth in a wolfish grimace. “You’re one of the Winchesters’ pet angels now, aren’t you?”

Without thinking twice, Michael was in front of Raphael, grabbing her pressed shirt collar and snarling into her face. “I am nobody’s pet. I make my own choices and my own decisions. I have tasted freedom in the Cage, in a place where I once thought would only be full of torture and hopelessness, and I hope to bring that back to the Host of Heaven. Starting with you, Raphael. Stop thinking about what Father wants. Think for yourself.”

“You are a disgrace to Him,” Raphael snapped, unfazed by Michael’s aggression. “Going back on your word to Him, on your duty to destroy Lucifer as it is written.”

“You think he would be any prouder of you? So intent on destroying his favorite creation?”

“What has gotten _into_ you?” Raphael asked in amazement. She was no longer angry, merely curious and a little stunned by Michael’s sudden display of rebellion, something she thought she’d only ever see in Lucifer and maybe Castiel. “Has Lucifer penetrated your mind in the Cage? Changed your way of thinking?”

“Lucifer has nothing to do with this.”

“Then it is something else.” Raphael paused. “Perhaps a someone.” And then the little grin that broke over her face froze the blood in Michael’s vessel, chilling him to the bone because somehow, Raphael _knew_. “It’s the boy, isn’t it?”

Michael released Raphael’s shirt and took a step backward, hands held chest level to show he meant no harm, trying to placate his brother. “He has nothing to do with it either.”

Raphael studied his face for a moment. “No. You’re lying. It’s in your eyes. It is the boy. Adam.”

A disgusted shiver raced down Michael’s spine when Raphael spoke his name. “Adam doesn’t know any of this. He has no idea of the kind of influence he’s had on me, so leave him out of it.”

But Raphael was slowly shaking her head, grinning a skeletal smile filled with all sorts of bad intentions. She was backing away from Michael, slinking further down the slope with each step. “You’ve made a grave mistake, Michael. And Adam’s going to pay for it.”

“Raphael, no—!”

Raphael vanished. 

_“Adam.”_

Michael followed.

\---

Note for future reference: after spending hundreds of years being tortured and maimed and broken in the Cage, eventually the Enochian sigils engraved on one’s ribs – the ones that protected one’s location – will disappear. 

Exhibit A: Adam Joseph Milligan.

Adam had barely finished eating his breakfast – sitting across the table from a disgruntled-looking Sam and a pensive Bobby while Dean moped around in the basement doing God knows what – when something loud crashed into Bobby’s living room with all the rumble and noise of thunder. 

“What the—”

Adam turned in his seat just in time for a woman he’d never seen before in his life to grab him by the shirt collar and toss him across the room like he was nothing but a rag doll. He slammed sideways into the far wall and slid down in front of Bobby’s fireplace. His spine was surely bruised (if not dented) and the back of his head was wet with what was probably blood. 

“Adam!” Sam shouted as he jumped up in his seat. 

Bobby reached into his back pants pocket and tried to draw a gun, but the woman turned to them and flicked her wrists, sending them both flying back into the sink and the fridge respectively. They both landed on the ground, groaning. 

Adam tried pushing himself up with his hands but he was dizzy and disoriented. Blood dripped down onto his temple from the back of his head and made little droplets on the hardwood floor. He stared at them, mouth open slightly in disbelief. He was bleeding. Someone strange had appeared in the middle of Bobby’s house, tossed him into a wall, and now he was bleeding.

Oh. 

_Oh._

Shit.

Adam lifted his head slowly, mouth curled in a grimace, when he felt the same strong hand lift him by the back of his shirt and slam him face first back into the wall. His mouth hit the brick and he tasted blood, groaning in pain.

“Adam Milligan.” The voice was the woman’s.

Adam could only grunt by way of response, blood trickling down his chin as he tried to kick backwards at his assailant. Where in God’s name were Sam and Bobby? And Dean? Hell, he’d even take Castiel and Michael at this point.

The hand suddenly tossed him away from the wall and slammed him on his back on Bobby’s desk, paperweights and odd-shaped books digging into his spine as he moaned in pain. He did, however, get a chance to get a better, closer look at his attacker. She wore a black business suit and heels, and if Adam hadn’t seen her before she attacked him, he would never have guessed that she’d be strong enough to toss him around the room this way. But her strength and the way she held herself and glared down at him... she had to be an angel. She had to be. But why was she here? What did he do? 

“You’ve become more trouble than you’re worth,” the woman said without a hint of emotion. 

Adam grit his teeth and tried to speak, but some of his blood slid down the back of his throat and he choked, trying to cough it up. 

She shook her head and looked up into the kitchen at Sam and Bobby, who were just getting up from the floor, albeit too slowly for comfort. She smirked a little bit and all of Adam’s attention was drawn to the butcher knife she held in her hand. He recognized it from Bobby’s kitchen drawer before she caught his eye and said, “I’m sorry” before stabbing it down and through Adam’s chest.

“No!” Sam roared, pushing himself off from the counter and running at the woman, but someone else got to her first. 

_“Adam!”_

Michael’s voice sounded far away, so distant that Adam was almost sure he wasn’t even in the same room as them, but without warning the woman was pitched off her feet and thrown into the window above the couch. She smashed through it with a loud crash and landed somewhere in the dirt outside; her impact made the ground quake. 

The knife was still in Adam’s chest, sticking straight up at the ceiling, but there was no pain. It simply itched a bit, and Adam reached with a hand slowly to touch the handle, as though he couldn’t quite believe that he’d been stabbed in the chest. 

Michael was at his side in an instant, looking down at him with wide eyes and a horrified expression on his face. 

“Adam...” he breathed, reaching out with one hand towards the knife before he retracted it, thinking better than to touch it in case it hurt Adam even more.

But that was just it. Adam really couldn’t feel anything; even the itching was relieved. He caught Michael’s eye and whispered, “Doesn’t hurt...”

“What?” Michael asked.

“It...doesn’t hurt.”

Michael’s frown deepened but his expression changed from horror to confusion. Behind him, Sam was helping Bobby to his feet and the two of them ran over to the desk where Adam still lay.

“Adam... Oh my God...” Sam gasped, the look on his face matching Michael’s previous expression. 

Michael ignored the blasphemous comment and said, “Can you remove it?” He was talking to Adam.

Adam grasped the knife handle, took a deep breath (again, hacking a little bit of blood up on his chin) and pulled hard. The knife came out seamlessly and he breathed a sigh of relief as he felt absolutely nothing painful or out of the ordinary. Though, the fact that he was alive at all was unordinary to say the least. 

Everyone frowned down at him, but before anyone could say anything, the woman was climbing back through the broken window, brushing broken glass off her clothes. She looked absolutely nonplussed as she saw Michael standing there, but when she saw Adam sitting up on his elbows sans knife in his chest, her eyes widened.

“Impossible,” she breathed, shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. “I... I stabbed his heart.”

“Raphael.” Michael’s voice was booming thunder, a command from the heavens. “You will leave. Now.” His eyes softened. “Please, brother. Don’t make me fight you too.”

The woman – Adam thought Raphael was a guy’s name? And _brother?_ – regarded Michael with cool eyes, obviously unfazed by him. “I will return,” she promised. “This is not over, Michael. Not until you fight with Lucifer and bring Paradise to this planet. And as for you,” she addressed Adam, “I will figure you out. I will get rid of you.”

“Raphael,” Michael snapped viciously. “Leave.”

She vanished on the spot, and only when she was gone did everybody breathe a collective sigh of relief, as though she took with her all the weight and troubles off their shoulders. Michael and Sam turned back to Adam, concerned, while Bobby headed to a nearby cabinet for a first-aid kit. 

“You’re alive,” Sam said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to run through the list of reasons why Adam could possibly have survived a knife to the chest. “How’s that possible? Michael?” He looked to the archangel for answers. 

Michael pursed his lips as he leaned over Adam and brushed a lock of sweaty, bloody hair away from his forehead, leaving a streak of red on the pale skin there. “Adam is an angel now. He has grace in his body. The only thing that can kill him now is an angel blade.”

Realization dawned on Sam’s face and he looked down at Adam as though he were some kind of particularly rare species of animal. Adam frowned and pushed himself off his elbows carefully, looking down at his chest where there should’ve been a hole and gushing blood, but only his T-shirt was ripped; his skin was intact and unblemished. 

“I...I can’t be killed?” he asked, his voice slightly shaky with shock. 

“Only with an angel blade,” Michael repeated. “Or if someone smites you. Both of which are things you’ll need to watch out for if Raphael returns for you,” he added under his breath. His eyes grazed over Adam before he frowned again and asked, “Where’s the rest of that blood from?”

Adam reached up and gingerly touched the back of his head, wincing and hissing in pain when his fingers accidentally prodded his wound too hard. Michael rounded the desk and placed one hand on Adam’s back to hold him up while he studied the head wound. Sam stood beside him, jaw tight, and Bobby was on Adam’s other side with the medical kit at the ready. 

Michael saw the white box and shook his head. “I’m sorry Bobby, but human healing won’t help Adam. He needs to use his grace to heal himself.”

“Why can’t you heal him?” Sam asked. 

“Gabriel’s grace would counteract mine. Nothing would happen. Adam has to heal himself.”

Adam sat up a little further, leaning forward to bring up his knees to his chest and hug his legs. “I don’t know how...” It had taken him so long to learn how to fold and unfold his wings, how to fly...and those had just been wing actions. Dealing with actually using the grace in his body was a whole different challenge. 

Michael’s hand on his back began to rub small, soothing circles. “Just concentrate. You’ve done so well thus far.”

Adam swallowed – another mixture of saliva and blood – as he closed his eyes and felt around inside his body for that little pocket of warmth and comfort that he’d grown used to over the past week or so. Gabriel’s grace was like a fire that warmed him from the inside and without it, he knew he’d be a disgusting, miserable wreck overtaken by memories from the Cage. In fact, a lot of things in Adam’s life would be different right now if it weren’t for Gabriel’s grace – some of them good, and some of them bad. He couldn’t really say for sure how he felt about it, but right now it was turning out to be a blessing if he could simply heal himself and not need human medical attention.

He found the grace and tried to spread it through his body up towards his head, concentrating so he didn’t drop little pieces of it along the way; he figured he would need as much of it as possible. 

Everyone watched as the wound on the back of his head slowly started to close up. The blood was still there and his hair was tainted red, but the skin was forming back together and stitching itself back up. Sam had even seen a bit of white – Adam’s skull, probably – that was soon covered up with new ligaments and skin. Awestruck, he couldn’t help but grin as his little brother healed himself and breathed a sigh of relief.

Michael, too, was smiling, albeit not as widely as Sam. “See? You’re capable of anything as long as you believe you are.”

Adam opened his eyes and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in. He let the grace go and it resettled back where it had been before, somewhere in the depths of his soul and his heart and the rest of his essence, the little things that made Adam who he was. He unwittingly leaned back into Michael’s hand and sighed. “I think it was easy only because it was necessary,” he admitted. 

Michael grinned. “Adam, just take the compliment and run with it.”

“Bite me.”

Even Bobby chuckled at that. Injured or no, if there was one thing that wouldn’t change, it was Adam’s attitude, and to be honest the fact that he was making jokes again was a comforting norm. 

“You’re gonna be fine, kid,” Bobby said, grasping Adam by the shoulder and giving him a comforting little shake. 

Adam looked back at the older man and smiled gratefully before turning to Michael. “So...who was that woman? She an angel?”

“Raphael,” Sam answered for Michael. “And she’s a he, technically.”

“Come again?”

Sam, Bobby, and Michael all looked each other silently but their eyes spoke volumes: it was time for an explanation. Adam deserved to know everything – the full version. After all, he was as part of this just as much as any of them, especially now if Raphael was after him for whatever reason (though Michael was the only one who knew the truth).

Michael walked around to the front of the desk so he was facing Adam and without warning, he carefully wrapped his arms around the younger boy’s waist and lifted him up and off the wooden top, hugging him to his chest for a nanosecond before letting him stand on his own two feet and backing away. Sam noted the close, almost tender moment with a raised eyebrow but said nothing, trying to keep his lips from turning downwards into a frown. 

Bobby placed the medical kit on his desk and leaned against the wood with both hands in front of him. He stared down at the grain for a moment before asking, “so who wants to start story time?”


	6. Cycle Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a complete filler. It was a challenge given to me by my completely sadistic roommate who dared me to write an entire chapter using only three sentences, and one of those sentences must be "Son of a bitch." While this piece does not add anything to the plot, it's all background for Adam's life and touches a bit upon what happened to him in the Cage. If you want to skip this part, by all means, I completely understand (I'm not kidding when I say it's one really long sentence, punctuated by two shorter ones). If you're feeling particularly adventurous or daring, then I can't really stop you, so Godspeed!

He who lives his life without a father and successfully learns to fight and hold his own, he who fights off the metaphorical ghosts and monsters in the house while the real ones stand in the shadows and wait, he who learns how to tie his own shoes once he learns that Velcro is for babies, he who goes through a pudgy stage during his childhood but cuts down on the Twinkies and the other Hostess snacks when a girl points and laughs at him, he who breaks his leg during the third grade when trying to climb a tree to impress that same girl despite her mocking and teasing behind the teacher’s back in class, he who watches his friends with envy whenever their mothers come to pick them up from school, he who has to walk home alone with a heavy backpack and a heavier heart because his mother is always working to pay the bills, he who learns how to cook his own dinner when he’s only nine years old, he who attracts the attention of all the ladies working the cash register at the supermarket whenever he walks in by himself because he was so young and on his own, he who gets his first kiss from a girl on the playground because they were playing truth or dare and she was one of the weird kids in his grade but he was dared to kiss her anyway because his friends sucked, he who was bedridden for a week with the stomach virus when he was in the fourth grade and spent entire nights and days throwing up into the toilet...

...he who joins the Boy Scouts to learn some semblance of friendship from others his age, he who gains more than friendships but valuable knowledge as well, he who becomes an Eagle Scout and holds his head high and proud and comes home to his mother with the badge to prove it, he who is exposed to his first interest in medicine and first aid because of this experience he’s had...

...he who meets his biological father for the first time when he turns twelve and his surname is the name of his favorite kind of gun, he who stands in the shadow of his father, he who looks up to him, he who idolizes him even though he’s only ever been a ghost in the back of his mind, reminding him that he never had what seemed to be the norm, he who feels no shame when other people question whether or not he even really met his father because the meeting only lasted a few hours and then the man was gone back to wherever it was he came from...

...he who hides porn magazines under his mattress when he turns thirteen and finally learns what a girl’s body really looks like, he who has to figure out on his own what masturbating is and how to do it and what techniques work best, he who has to decide for himself what sport he wants to play in middle school, he who has to figure out from his friends how to properly ask a girl out on a date, he who fails at getting said date...

...he who can’t concentrate in math class because he likes it much better when he’s writing short stories under his desk, he who gets into his first fight because one of the other kids in his class started making jokes about how he doesn’t have a father and how his mother was a whore who just slept with any guy she could get her hands on, he who was suspended for beating the other boy so hardly that he was almost left unconscious but still had to be sent to the hospital, he who scares away the other children at first before they realize it was a fluke happening and so they start to gather a crowd again, he who starts to look at the other boys when they’re all changing together in the locker room, he who denies that he does this when his best friend questions him about it relentlessly, he who feels guilt at the fact that he once had a crush on said best friend, he who never missed a day of school in his life until he turned fourteen and was beaten up after school once because he looked like such a twink, he who started faking sick so he wouldn’t have to go to school until his mother caught onto the ruse and had a meeting with the vice principal, he who forever became known as the mommy’s boy because he couldn’t stand up for himself, he who took a year off when he turned fifteen and was home-schooled by a tutor his mother hired with the little money they had...

...he who continuously meets his father every year for his birthday, he who drinks his first beer with the man when he’s fifteen and learns that it actually doesn’t taste all too bad despite what rumors he’d heard from his mother, who probably only wanted to nudge him away from the drink in the first place, he who drinks a little too much and ends up becoming best friends with the toilet the next day after his father has left already and his mother is working at the hospital and all he has with him are his porn magazines and the bathroom rug underneath him...

...he who starts to drink regularly, secretively, obsessively whenever his mother isn’t home to ease the pain of starting school again at sixteen, he who finds temporary comfort in a razor for a few weeks before dropping the habit after he hears on the news about a girl who committed suicide that way in a town a few miles north of them, he who is still haunted by the memories his classmates left behind even though nobody bothers him anymore because he’s lost a lot of weight and gotten out of his pudgy phase and he doesn’t look like such a twink anymore even though he still does sometimes sneak a peek in the boys’ locker room, he who is always scared of being rediscovered, or discovered for the first time, whichever one is worse...

...he who starts to think about college applications early because he wants to get as far away from his hometown as possible, he who applies to the best pre-med program he can find because not only is it far away but it’s a damn good school too, he who is yelled at by his mother for applying because it’s too far and too expensive and the only way he’d be allowed to go is if he got a full scholarship, he who doesn’t receive the full scholarship and is stuck sticking in the same state close to home because his mother prefers it that way and it’s safer and she’d miss him if he was too far, he who obliges because all he’s ever wanted to do was make his mother happy and go to a good college so he could get a good enough job where he could help his mother leave this poor existence behind and he could take care of her the way she deserves...

...he who asks the girl of his dreams to his senior prom and she says yes and he’s only a little disappointed that she said yes because now he actually has to go through the motions of getting ready for prom, he who spends more time than necessary picking out a tuxedo to match her green dress, he who drives up to her house in his rusty shit truck sweating buckets because this is prom and what kind of night would it be if he wasn’t nervous, he who picks the corsage to match her eyes, he who arrives to the prom fashionably late and asks her to dance and together they sway on the dance floor to the rhythm of the music, he who is an expert at switching tempo between songs – fast, slow, rock, hip hop, old school, pop – and can thankfully keep up with his pretty date’s energy, he who brings said date to an empty stairwell where the two of them kiss for the first time, first gently, then hard, then they’re everywhere at once and there’s hands and grabbing and missing clothes and a condom appears somehow and everything is raw and unpracticed but neither of them really minds because this is the first time neither of them has been alone...

...he who spends his first few months the summer before college trying to keep in touch with the girl but she prefers to get around rather than stay tied down to one person, he who drinks himself into a stupor because he thought they were right and that they’d work out but apparently he wasn’t all right and he wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, because he usually never is, because he wasn’t enough to take care of his mother and he wasn’t enough for his father to want to stick around for very long so why should he be enough for this girl when she could have so much better, like the drinking that’ll kill her new boyfriend within the week or the drugs that’ll kill her the following month...

...he who spends most of the summer dicking around on the Internet looking at porn or reading from sports magazines or hanging out at the local mall because he has nothing better to do, he whose mother finds out about his drinking and yells herself hoarse and nearly hits him but thinks better of it and instead cries herself to sleep that night which is so much worse than being hit and he’d rather take the smacking right now anyway, he who gets rid of all the alcohol he has hidden in his room because if there’s one thing he doesn’t want, it’s to disappoint his mother, because he’s already disappointed in himself and he can’t bear to lose her support too...

...he who meets his college roommate at the local diner a week before the semester begins and finds out that the guy dabbles in the art of drugs, he who has to fight with the student housing office to switch to a different roommate because they don’t want to be hassled but he doesn’t want to be near this kind of guy so they’d damn well better switch his roommate or so help him God...

...he who meets his second new roommate on move-in day and together they hit it off right away and he thinks the guy is mildly attractive but he doesn’t show it for fear of having college end up just like public school in his hometown so he just keeps quiet, he who joins the college track team but then quits because his pre-med courses are keeping him busy enough as it is, he who can’t keep a steady girlfriend until he meets ‘the one’ in his biology class and asks her to coffee, he who doesn’t normally drink coffee but chokes it down anyway for her sake because all she drinks is that free trade shit so he might as well at least make an attempt to enjoy it but he doesn’t, he who feels like this college thing isn’t all its cracked up to be as his dad misses his nineteenth birthday and doesn’t even send a card to make up for it, doesn’t even attempt to make an excuse, doesn’t even try to apologize for it...

...he whose mother goes missing one weekend and he drives home in that piece of shit truck of his, he who goes around interviewing neighbors and colleagues and coworkers and friends and book club members and PTA members but nobody has seen or heard from her in quite some time, he who goes to his house and investigates for himself because he knows there has to be some sort of clue lying around somewhere, he who knows and loves his mother because she wouldn’t just pack up and leave him without saying anything, he who suddenly feels more alone now than ever before because this is his mother and she’s the one steady light in his life...

...he who finds a nasty surprise waiting for him in his room when he sees the thing that looks like his mother but isn’t his mother as it rushes him and bites at his face, he who thinks this is some kind of game and this is some kind of crazy kiss but then her teeth are ripping chunks out of his neck and he’s bleeding everywhere, getting red on the carpet and flailing to get away as he tries to crawl along on the ground, he who gets cornered on the staircase by a second creature, this one who looks suspiciously like a local cop but can’t be, because there he is, tearing bits of skin off his arms to grind his teeth into the muscle there, he who suddenly wonders, in his last moments of consciousness, whether or not he tastes good...

...he who wakes up on the floor of his old high school gymnasium, dressed in that same tuxedo, he who stands up and confusedly looks around before realizing that this is his senior prom again and there’s the girl who broke his heart but she looks the same as she did back then, he who takes her hand without thinking twice and relives the memories, he who has no idea where he is or what’s going on but he’s going to enjoy every second of it while he can, he who doesn’t realize it but this is the fifth time he’s waking up to this heaven, the fifth time he’s ‘losing his virginity,’ the fifth time he’s dancing with this girl to this song...

...he whose routine is broken one day by two people in business suits who tell him that they’re angels and they have a job for him to do, he who is told that he has to save the world by becoming a vessel, whatever the hell that is, he who is told that if he chooses to leave Heaven he will become a soldier in a war that will change the face and fate of the planet, but if the angels win it will be for the better, he who wants his own compensation, he who is told that if he helps the angels and becomes a vessel that he’ll get to see his mother again...

...he who does everything for the only woman who has ever been a steady light in his life, he who is raised from the dirt and filth and soot, he who meets his brothers for the first time, he who is betrayed, trapped, lied to, deceived on all ends by everyone around him, he who learns that sometimes people pick and choose who their family is depending on what comes easiest to them because even though family is everything, he should’ve known there’d be a little footnote that reads ‘but only the family that actually matters,’ because he knows he sure as hell doesn’t matter and that’s why they’ve left him behind in that room to be killed again...

...he who is not dead, but merely stagnant, hovering in between life and death and whatever else there is in between because there’s nothing to him anymore but at the same time he can feel warmth, he who doesn’t realize it yet but this is the archangel, the host for his body, he who will be using him as a vessel, he who needs to fight his brother to win the war that many have died trying to prevent and begin...

...he who sits backseat to his own mind and body and can only watch the events unfolding before him like some sort of sick film at the movie theater, he who wants desperately for anybody to hear him screaming in his own head but knows that the archangel will never let him get a word in edgewise, he who kicks and bites and scratches tooth and nail at the walls trapping him in there, he who is infuriated by the archangel’s cruel laughter at the fact that he will never escape or be able to make a sound, he who watches helplessly as the archangel and his brother – also possessed – circle each other in that graveyard as they prepare for the ultimate battle, the war to end all wars, he who can do nothing to ward off the holy oil Molotov that gets thrown his way, he who burns fierce and pure and white as he and the archangel disappear from the plane of existence for what seems like days but was really only minutes, he who screams bloody murder in his own mind as he and the archangel and his brother fall down, down into that black pit...

...he who has to endure decades of battle, war, carnage, as the two archangels rage on inside the pit they’ve fallen into, he who is abandoned and left to rot and falls every downward, he who must learn to defend himself or die trying, but it doesn’t really matter, does it, because he knows he’s going to die anyway because this is Hell and he knows it and there’s no telling what will happen to him down here especially now that he’s on his own...

...he who is alone on the ground, alone wherever he is and he knows it but at the same time he’s in denial because he was once with the archangel, the one who he thought cared about him at least a little bit, at least a smidge, the one who tried to heal his broken limbs and skin and regrow him and remold him into a newer better image every time he was destroyed the first few decades before he was abandoned, he who feels more alone now than ever because he’d grown so used to the archangel’s presence and now he has nothing, not even himself, not the archangel, not even the archangel’s brother or his own brother, who’d been rescued earlier because Lord knows the world only ever cares about him and not about the other one because the other one is a bastard and a fatherless son of a bitch and nobody really ever notices him anyway, he who is forgotten about long after he’s dead, he whose gravesite is nameless because he lived a nameless forgetful life...

...he who learns the true meaning of fear...

...he who starts to give up hope because as far as he knows this is the end of the line for him and there’s no telling what kind of miserable existence he deserves otherwise, he who is more than shocked when his archangel lays siege to the bottom of the pit and frees him from his chains and flies with him tucked between his grace and his essence, shielding him from the rest of the pit, he who helps the archangel buffet the attacks from the angry warring brother as he tries to drag them both back down, he who is relieved when he and the archangel break through the surface and find themselves in a hotel before he passes out from exhaustion... 

...he who learns how to trust again, because he’s forgotten what the word means and how to deal with this new sensation of what it means to have a friend or a confidante or whatever the hell else he’s supposed to call the archangel who rescued him because at this point words have no real meanings and he doesn’t know what to even do in this situation...

...he who feels warmth for the first time in decades, in over a century, but doesn’t know where his warmth is coming from, he who wonders if it’s from the grace in his body, he who wonders if it’s the archangel who rescued him, he who wonders what could possibly be happening to him to make him feel these things for the creature that had abandoned him in the first place, he who wonders if really abandonment was the right word to even use in this situation because sometimes he doubted himself and doubted his judgment because for all he knew he was biased because of what happened to him and to them and to the rest of the world while they were down below...

...he who remembers what it feels like to burn, to be torn apart, yet has to wear a mask every day because he knows that if he shows the slightest sign of fear or trepidation that the others will lock him away in that panic room or even tie him down like he heard they’d done to his other brother once, he who knows that putting on a mask is his greatest strength and also his biggest downfall, he who knows the dangers of hiding his feelings but he can’t help himself because what else would he do to help himself, he who can’t help others, but tries his best anyway...

...he who remembers...

...he who still knows what a kiss on the forehead feels like, he who knows what it means to give a hug or be given a hug, he who knows what it feels like to love unconditionally and to be loved in the same fashion, albeit only by his mother but in all honesty that was the only kind of love he needed at the time because it was the only love necessary to survive, he who knows true loss because that kind of love was taken away from him all too soon and all too violently and all too bloody, much like the rest of the things in his life, including his own...

...he who feels pain, fear, sadness, anger, betrayal, love, despite all those years underneath when he should’ve been desensitized and broken and flawed and maimed beyond repair because of what happened to him and his soul and his very essence and everything that happened to him should’ve left him a hollow empty shell like his other brother but it didn’t because for whatever reason the grace had chosen him and him alone and it had bonded with him and chosen him as a kindred spirit and instead of only healing him now it was attaching itself to him and weaving its way through his body and evolving him and morphing him...

...he who tries his hardest not to let his anger and his thirst for vengeance get the better of him, he who knows that he should be learning forgiveness especially after what he had experienced, he who spent too many years being angry at too many different people and too many different things, he who is tired of being angry, tired of thirsting for revenge, tired of even being tired in the first place, he who tries his hardest to make amends in his own mind but when he translates those feelings into actions he doesn’t exactly do the best job...

...he who still tries anyway, no matter how many times he fails or how many people he upsets or how many people yell at him, no matter how often he thinks he isn’t good enough to help because why should he be when he couldn’t even help himself during his lifetime, couldn’t even stop himself from drinking or hurting himself or spiraling downwards in his own head whenever things looked a little rough...

...he who might be falling for the archangel, falling even when he’d already been raised...

...he who sits in his own head sometimes and relives memories from his past life because those memories offer him the only comfort right now, the only thing keeping him stable and sane and balanced because without them he would cease to be anything, he who is afraid he’ll stop being human if he lets go of these memories...

...he who isn’t human anyway because of the grace within his body, he who has already wasted so much time and effort trying to hold onto his humanity only to have it ripped away from him in so little time and with so little effort, he who has worked for everything and gained nothing for his efforts except about eight hundred more muscles, new dangers, and a new load of confusion and feelings...

...he who loves breathing, loves loving, loves feeling the things inside his chest and his body and his heart but doesn’t know if what he’s feeling is real or if it’s all a part of his grace and the rest of the essence running through his body, he who doesn’t know himself anymore because he’s not even sure who or what ‘he’ is, he who has nothing left to himself but his own name and even that seems to be a lie in and of itself because of his father and his brothers and everything that was supposed to be dynamic about a family was reversed in his life...

...he who cannot hold a candle to his family because he knows he’s not worth the same as them, he who knows he’s always second or third to their first priorities, he who has never been a priority in anyone’s life before and he’s resigned himself to this faux-existence with a kind of sad recognition and even though there’s a voice inside telling him that he’s worth so much more than he gives himself credit for, he can’t help but feel that this half-assed life is all he’ll ever be familiar with, he who dies more times than he cares to remember because he’s good at death and dying and perhaps that should be his profession instead of saving lives, because Lord knows he’s pretty close with death...

...he who knows that normalcy is just a thin veil covering the truth behind everything in the world, he who fears to stand between the veil and see both sides because both of them could destroy him in a heartbeat, he who has no place in either and so he inhabits his own little space, he who hopes he’s finally safe but there’s something deep inside him telling him otherwise...

...he who does, feels, knows, understands, relives, experiences all of these things, is a hero, and while Adam Milligan doesn’t think himself one, in time he will come to understand there’s more to his life than death and dying, than fire and brimstone, than being second to Sam and Dean Winchester all the time because he’s really only gained two things so far out of being their brother. One was learning that sometimes you can’t even count on your own family, and the other was a new catch phrase.

Son of a bitch.


	7. Pray You Through

Son of a bitch. There was not enough alcohol in the world for the Winchesters to ply Adam with in order to make him forget everything they’d told him. They almost wished they’d kept their mouths shut because the look on his face was unbearable, to say the least. Even though originally they agreed to tell him everything, they’d eventually only tried to tell him as much as they dared. But even when they tried to give him the censored version, Michael or Bobby would jump in and add little bits and pieces to the story, which earned them each enough glares to last a lifetime. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust Adam, but at the same time, they had to be careful. The last time they’d tried the whole ‘hug it out and love each other’ routine, Adam had turned on them and ran to Zachariah. 

Adam was sitting on the couch with one hand on his chest and the other in his lap as his head pounded with all the new information he’d just absorbed. Castiel. Crowley. Purgatory. Apocalypse. Raphael. Lucifer. They were all names, places, and things that Adam had always thought irrelevant to his life or not known about altogether. They didn’t mean a thing to him earlier, but now it seemed as though they were about to become a part of his every day vocabulary. 

Castiel. Crowley. Purgatory. Apocalypse. Raphael. Lucifer.

Sam. Dean. Bobby. Gabriel.

Michael.

Adam.

They were supposed to just be names in the pages of his life, and only a few of them were supposed to be meaningful, important. Now, however, it seemed that he’d have to learn to accept them all for what they stood for. Absorb everything. Learn.

“This is crazy,” Adam mumbled as he ran a hand through his hair. He was still stuck on a few parts of the story. “Why would Cas keep looking for Purgatory if you’re back?” he asked Michael. “I mean, it’s up to you whether or not the Apocalypse happens, and if you’re saying no, I don’t see why—”

“Because Castiel thinks he has something to prove to me,” Michael interrupted from his spot leaning against the wall across from Adam. Next to him in the doorway, Dean’s eyes flicked towards him as he spoke. “He knows I won’t let anything happen to this planet, or to the people living on it. But somehow he feels...underappreciated.” He nodded, sure he used the correct term. “By opening Purgatory, he can prove himself to be much more than a low-ranking angel.”

“And you agree with him?” Dean asked, questioning the tone of Michael’s voice.

Michael frowned. “Of course not. I’m merely suggesting that I understand why he feels this way. But he’s my brother, Dean, and he’s hurting himself by aligning himself with Crowley. I would rather he stop this venture as soon as possible.”

“You couldn’t convince him?” Sam asked. When Michael shook his head no, Sam frowned. “And it didn’t occur to you to threaten him? Use that big brother brawn you’ve got going on?”

“I am not going to influence my brother’s decisions with threats when you’re the ones who convinced me of free will’s existence in the first place,” Michael said with a dark expression on his face. “Castiel is choosing his own path, and while I’m not happy that I cannot verbally convince him to cease and desist, I would never think of laying a hand on him, of forcing him to submit to my will.”

“But you would do that to Raphael?” Dean asked challengingly.

Michael rounded on him. “Pardon me, Dean, but it sounds to me as though you want me to kill Castiel.”

“I’m just a little confused as to why only one of your brothers is an exception to the free will clause,” Dean says.

“Don’t avoid what I just said.”

“The same goes for you.”

They glared at each other and for a second Adam was worried that Michael would turn his oldest brother into a pillar of salt just for kicks. “Guys, guys, keep the testosterone level to a minimum, okay? We don’t need any more fights.”

“Then tell your brother here to keep his opinions to himself,” Michael said. “You here know nothing about the relationship between Raphael and I, and I expect it’ll be that way for quite awhile. The only one you need to concern yourselves with is Castiel. Try to speak to him, convince him otherwise, but don’t hurt him if he doesn’t agree to see things your way. Dean,” Michael addressed him in a lower voice, “I know you must feel betrayed, but try to keep your personal feelings out of this.”

“My personal feelings?” Dean repeated incredulously, and Adam could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears as he stepped forward to get into Michael’s face. “My personal feelings. Are you friggin’ kidding me?”

“You were very close with Castiel, Dean. It’s not a secret, even to those of us on other planes of existence.”

“You’re telling me to keep my personal feelings out of this when you’re the one who’s being influenced by them and causing all these problems in the first place?”

“Dean!” Sam warned. “Enough. Don’t go there, okay? It’s none of our business.”

“The hell it isn’t! He’s our brother too!”

“What’re you guys talking about?” Adam asked, standing up from his spot on the couch. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Sam said as he turned to his younger brother. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dean looked livid. “Don’t tell him that! He has every right to worry about it! He’s just as involved. After all,” he shoots Michael a filthy look, “you’re always practically tripping over yourself to help him. Is there something you wanna tell us, Mike?”

A heavy silence followed in which Adam looked at Michael, confusion rimming his eyes. Michael looked away, couldn’t bear to look at him and give a straight answer. Bobby didn’t even step in to say anything, and that’s when Adam knew that he was just as curious to Michael’s answer as the rest of them were. Dean was right. There was something unusual about Michael’s treatment of Adam. But it had to be something normal, right? Just some kind of angel-protecting-his-former-vessel thing. But... if that were true, why would Michael protect Adam and not Dean? Wasn’t Dean his true vessel, the reason Adam had been used as bait the first time around? It didn’t make any sense.

Unless this all had nothing to do with his being a vessel at all, and had something more to do with that kiss from earlier...

“Michael,” Adam began, “what’s going on?”

Michael shook his head, face taut, as he stared at Dean. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit,” Dean spat. He then mocked, “ _There’s nothing to tell._ Are you kidding me? You haven’t told us jack. Why’s Raphael after Adam? What’s his endgame?”

“You already know the answer to that, it seems,” Michael said quietly.

“Yeah? Well I’d like to hear it from you. Directly.”

Michael shook his head. “I believe the floor is yours.” He swallowed hard and his gaze steeled as he regarded Dean with a kind of cold curiosity. “Tell us, Dean. Why is it you think I have feelings that are under the influence of an outside source?”

The smirk that crosses Dean’s face – cocky, overconfident, with a hint of anger and frustration – is one that Adam hopes never to see again. It’s downright creepy, no other word for it. “You like Adam.”

Michael frowns a bit and shrugs one shoulder, a very human gesture that Adam found he’d picked up on from...from him. “I do. That is no great secret. He’s nice and—”

“No. You _like_ Adam.” Dean’s eyes are dark. “In a way that you’re not supposed to.” 

Adam’s breath hitched in his throat. Well. They’d kissed. Shit. They’d _kissed._ Of course the rest of them would figure it out sooner or later, what with Adam’s penchant for always getting involved in shit that he didn’t want to deal with. 

_In a way that you’re not supposed to._

What did that mean? Were angels not supposed to love humans? Adam hadn’t paid that much attention in religious school. Then again, he wasn’t sure angel-human relationships was something normally brought up at Sunday school. It didn’t seem like a very common question. 

Michael’s face was unreadable which was probably a good thing because one wrong blink or twitch of the lips and Adam was pretty sure Dean would’ve tried to hit him. Instead, he merely looked Dean in the eyes and said, “I have not had much firsthand experience with you humans. Mostly I’ve watched from my seat in Heaven and merely regarded you as one would an interesting specimen in a jar.” He looked apologetically over at Bobby for some reason, but the old man didn’t look too friendly at him. “As angels, we’re not supposed to...to feel. Doubt. Regret. Sadness. These things hinder us and can keep us from doing our duty, so we’re not supposed to feel or show emotion, lest it change and control us.”

“But?” Adam had a feeling there was supposed to be a ‘but’ inserted in there somewhere.

“However,” Michael amended slowly, “when one has had long-term contact with humans, sometimes things...change.”

“Like how Anna’s life on Earth as a human helped influence Cas?” Sam asked. 

“Or when an angel starts to become human,” Bobby interrupted gruffly.

Everyone turned to him, bewildered.

“Bobby, let’s not change the subject now...” Dean started to say.

“I ain’t changing the subject if we’re already veering in that direction. I was reading something in one of those old texts Cas brought me awhile ago, and I stumbled across something you’re not gonna like.” He looked pointedly at Michael before going over to the bookshelf and pulling out a thin book no more than about fifty pages. Adam looked at it curiously while Bobby continued. “Getting in and out of Hell for an angel isn’t easy, but it can be done. Obviously,” he added, looking to Dean as an example. “But the Cage is something different.”

“Of course it is. It had to be strong enough to bind Lucifer forever. I made it myself,” Michael said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t see how that’s new, revealing information.”

“Okay, well listen to this, smart guy,” Bobby snapped. “Didja ever think how much power you’d have to use up, an angel getting out of the damn _Cage?_ ”

Michael frowned. “It took quite a lot of energy but obviously it’s possible. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You damn near burned yourself out is what you did,” Bobby said. He looked a little annoyed that he was doing all the legwork, but honestly, if he didn’t know they were grateful by now... “You not only had to break yourself out, but Adam too. And you were escaping from the Cage, which even though _you_ designed, is still a damn near perfect prison.”

“Burned himself out?” Dean asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means Michael’s permanently burned up a lot of his own grace during his little jailbreak,” Bobby explained gruffly. “He’s closer to human now than archangel.”

Everyone turned to look at Michael, who was standing there with a slight smirk on his face as though he didn’t believe a word of it. 

“Bobby,” Michael sighed, “that’s not—”

“Don’t tell me it’s not possible. It’s here.” He held up the thin little book. “Along with some names you might recognize, names of angels who have burned up in the past.” Bobby opened the book to a dog eared page and begins reading. “Armen, Flauros, Gadreel, Verrier...”

“Stop it,” Michael said through clenched teeth. His fingers were curled into fists at his sides, as though he’s physically wounded by the names. 

“Sammael, Marut, Gressil...”

“I said stop it!”

“Bobby, that’s enough,” Adam shouted, standing up from his seat on the couch. “I think he gets it.”

“Do you?” Bobby asked as he rounded on the younger boy. “You do realize this means that Michael’s running low on juice and you’re the strongest thing in the room right now, right? That pretty soon if Michael can’t control his popping back and forth to Heaven and using the rest of his grace, he’ll turn completely human? He won’t be able to poof back up to Heaven to take baths in the Garden or whatever the hell else it is angels do up there. He’ll be stuck with us. Mortal.”

“Impossible,” Michael said, but he sounded far less sure of himself now. Adam could almost see the registry of names running across his eyes as he thought back to what Bobby had said about angels burning out their grace. 

Sam was looking at Bobby, perplexed. “I didn’t even know that was possible,” he said. “Burning out.”

“Oh yeah, it’s possible all right,” Bobby said with a nod. “Not too common though. That’s why you rarely, if ever, hear about it. It takes a lot of mojo and determination to actually use up that much grace, not to mention you’d have to do something incredibly difficult and stupid.” 

Here Bobby glared at Michael, who caught the gesture with dark eyes.

“What do you want from me?” Michael snapped uncharacteristically. “You would rather I’d just left Adam down there to rot? Left both of us down there?” He turned to Dean. “You and Sam were never coming to get him. We all know that. I did what nobody else had the nerve to do.”

“You did it for selfish reasons,” Dean retorted, and the tension in the room went up to eleven. “You only saved Adam because of your sick, twisted obsession with him.”

“It’s not obsession,” Michael said, his voice gaining in volume as he struggled to maintain the upper hand in the conversation. “He’s my former vessel and I have a duty to protect him.”

“You said you couldn’t use him as a vessel anymore. There’s no need for you to protect him.” Dean’s eyes were glittering as he verbally cornered Michael. “So why are you?”

Michael stood rooted to the spot, unable to look anybody in the eye, especially Adam, whom he seemed to be avoiding with amazing tenacity. Adam knew, of course, that Dean was right and that there was something else underlying everything Michael had done up until now, influencing his every decision with regard to Heaven and the Apocalypse and Raphael. He also had an inkling that he knew what it was – or more specifically, who, and he knew that Michael would rather not talk about it in front of everyone else. So without further ado, Adam reached and grabbed Michael’s hand before hauling him out of the room.

“Hey! Where d’you think you’re going?” Dean shouted.

“We need to talk,” Adam called over his shoulder as he dragged Michael up the stairs after him and led him back into his bedroom, where a large tarp covered the windowless frame to keep most of the bugs out. He closed the door behind them and faced the archangel with his arms crossed over his chest. “You and I both know what’s going on.”

“Adam—”

“You started it,” Adam warned. “So don’t you dare try and avoid it now. It’s true, isn’t it, what Dean’s saying?”

“Dean isn’t saying anything.”

“Fine. Implying then. ‘In a way you’re not supposed to.’ This is...” He tried to find the right words for it other than ‘fucked up.’ “This is serious, isn’t it?”

Michael’s face was impassive. “What’s serious?”

“This. Us. Our situation.” Adam sighed. “Damnit, Michael, Bobby just said you’re turning mortal. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Bobby is mistaken.” Michael didn’t sound or look too sure of himself. 

“Bobby’s good at what he does, and what he does is look into obscure shit and find out what’s up. You’ve been acting weird lately. Doing things you don’t normally do. Acting like a bigger prick than usual. Showing emotion. You’re turning, too.”

“Adam, enough.”

“Is that why Raphael’s pissed at you? Because you’re turning into one of us?”

“Raphael doesn’t know about what is or what is not happening to my grace. He’s only angry because I refuse to fight Lucifer and begin the Apocalypse.”

“Why won’t you?”

“Do you _want_ me to?” Michael raised an eyebrow.

Adam blanched. “No, of course not! I just want to know why you won’t.”

“Isn’t it enough that I don’t want to have to kill my own brother?” Michael’s voice suddenly dropped in volume and Adam could’ve sworn he heard it crack a little. 

He backed up a few steps and sat down heavily on the bed, looking more and more like a kicked puppy than Castiel ever did, and something inside Adam’s chest loosened. He breathed and wanted to go sit next to him. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood in front of him, arms still crossed, waiting for an elaboration. Michael granted his silent request. 

“I love all of my brothers. Even Raphael. Even Lucifer. He can be... shortsighted, I’ll admit. Blind, even. Stubborn. But he’s still my brother. He was once the most beautiful in Heaven, did you know that?” Adam shook his head. “Morning Star. That was his name. He outshone us all. But when he Fell... he lost his light and broke my heart. Broke my Father’s heart.” Michael sighed. “He never once apologized for what he did to us and how he tore Heaven in half, and he never came to talk to me about his... actions. We used to be close, but afterwards...” He trailed off again, shaking his head. “Afterwards, we were never the same. Each of us felt betrayed by the other one. Though I suppose, Lucifer was in the right, seeing as I built his prison and sealed it behind him...”

Adam’s arms were starting to unfold until they fell limply at his sides. 

“Lucifer will always be my little brother, no matter how old he gets or how split things are between us. I may grow angry with him, may grow weary of his stubbornness, may lash out at him verbally or speak out against him with others, but I will never lay a hand against him. Especially not based on some silly destiny written for me.”

“Because you believe in free will now, right?” Adam asked.

Michael nodded. “Yes. You taught me that, while you were my vessel.” He looked up at Adam with bright eyes. “Thank you. It was a lesson I didn’t know I needed.”

Adam shrugged one shoulder and looked away modestly. “I didn’t exactly plan on teaching you anything. I was just trying to keep you two from totaling each other.”

“Mm, yes. Totaling.” Michael was slow to say the unusual verb. He locked his fingers together with his elbows resting on his knees and continued. “Raphael doesn’t understand the bond between Lucifer and I. I doubt he ever will. Perhaps he is impaired by jealousy, but I cannot say anything for sure except that he won’t stop until we destroy each other. For him, our Father’s word is truly law. I am just as rebellious, just as evil now in his eyes as Lucifer is.” Michael’s eyes darkened. “Perhaps it is a good thing I’m turning human. It’s a Fall, but it’s not so painful.”

“You think you deserve this for saying no to God’s plan for you?” Adam asked incredulously. When Michael nodded, he shook his head. “No, I don’t believe that. That’s bull.”

“I beg to differ, Adam. And I’d appreciate you not calling my Father’s plan bull.”

Adam held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, didn’t realize you were still all about the master plan.”

“I’m not, I just don’t like you humans saying negative things against my Father.”

Understandable when your father was God. Adam finally decided to sit down on the bed next to him, making it creak under their weight, and he sighed. “Look. I get it. You don’t want to take it up with your brother. You just want to let things lie as they are, right?” Michael nodded. “And Raphael doesn’t understand that?” He shook his head. “What a prick. Sorry,” he added quickly, “I forgot. He’s your brother too.”

“He was never as close to us as the rest. Never quite seemed to fit in. Admittedly, Lucifer used to joke that he thought Raphael was adopted.” The corner of Michael’s mouth twitched into what Adam could’ve sworn was the beginning of a smile. “I reprimanded him for saying such a thing but in truth, I thought it was a bit funny.”

“More than a bit,” Adam said with a chuckle that he couldn’t control. 

Michael caught his eyes and started to grin before Adam’s snicker turned into a full laugh and made the archangel let go and laugh openly as well. The smile on his face was the fullest it had been in... well, in quite a while, actually. Adam couldn’t even remember the last time Michael had full on grinned, let alone made any kind of noise that wasn’t a sound of disbelief or discontent. It was refreshing to see him let loose, even though it was a small act and a normal human reaction. Adam was just glad to see Michael doing anything but glowering; he was almost afraid his face would be stuck that way. 

“See?” Adam said, wiping a little tear from the corner of his eye as he nudged Michael’s shoulder. “Humanity’s not so bad. That’s the happiest I’ve seen you since we escaped.”

“I’m capable of happiness. I just never show it.”

“Yeah, because that’s healthy.”

“It’s normal for angels.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m an angel, aren’t I? I’m not hiding anything.”

Michael sighed. “You’re different. You’re used to expressing yourself. That kind of natural instinct won’t go away immediately. It might not ever disappear, come to think of it.” His lips twitched into another smile. “You’ll always be the angel who expresses his emotions. It’ll be strange for the others.”

“Well, the others can suck it.”

Michael snorted. “You humans say the oddest things.”

“But you love us anyway,” Adam teased. “I mean, where else would you get this kind of humor?” He waited a beat, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Michael, before he backtracked a bit, trying to catch the archangel off guard enough so that he’d give him a straight answer for a change. “But you still didn’t answer my question. What did Dean mean when he said that you like me in a way you’re not supposed to? Are we...not supposed to be friends?”

Michael frowned and looked at Adam. “What? Of course not! We’re allowed to have that kind of connection. It’s another rarity, but it happens and it’s not forbidden.”

“But other connections are?” Adam asked. 

“Well... yes.”

“Like... love, for instance?”

Michael’s face remained unreadable as he tries to clear it like a slate. He didn’t meet Adam’s eyes as he said, “Why would you ask that?”

“Well,” Adam drew out the word to its fullest extent, “I just assumed from the way we kissed earlier...”

He shut his mouth as Michael snapped his head in his direction. Again, he was surprised that he didn’t feel any whiplash, or if he did, that he was able to just brush it off as nothing. “That was a mistake. A... spur of the moment thing.”

“Yeah well, your spur of the moment thing hasn’t exactly left my mind.”

Michael cocked an eyebrow unwittingly. “Is that so?”

“Man, we full on...” Adam scoffed a bit and shook his head in disbelief. “You haven’t thought about it at all? You’re the one who started it.”

“And I regret it.”

“Oh, is that so?” Adam couldn’t quite keep the rage out of his voice. “Why? I’m a bad kisser? Or is this more of that ‘angels can’t show emotion, can’t be with humans’ crap?”

Michael smirked a bit. “You’re a very satisfactory kisser, Adam. I don’t think you have reason to worry in that respect.” Adam snorted a little but he was blushing furiously. “I regret... I regret dragging you into this mess in the first place.”

A warm hand found Michael’s forearm and squeezed lightly. “It’s not a big deal,” Adam lied. 

Michael saw right through it. “You don’t expect me to believe that you don’t mind being a part of this again? Adam,” Michael shifted so he was facing the human, a frown on his face, “you always end up here. No matter what you do or how much you try to run, you’ve always ended up with the Winchesters. Don’t tell me that doesn’t bother you. I know how much you want a normal life. I’ve been in your head, remember? I know. And they can’t give that to you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for what you can’t control.”

“But I _can_ control how I feel about you, and for not being able to recently, I am sorry.” Michael bowed his head as though in mourning. 

“Whoa, hold on a minute.” Adam held up his hands. “Are you admitting that you like me?”

Michael suppressed a sigh. “I’ve always _liked_ you, Adam. But this is...unacceptable.”

“You mean the kissing.”

“Raphael is using you to get to me,” Michael breathed, finally admitting the worst. He spoke not only for Adam’s benefit but for his own; he’d been afraid of saying so out loud because that meant confirmation, definition, absolution. He hadn’t wanted to face the facts before, but there was no avoiding them now, not after what Raphael had tried to do to Adam. “He knows I don’t want to fight Lucifer.”

“Have you told him why?” Adam asked.

Michael shook his head. “No. He’s not interested in that 'why.' He’s interested in why I’ve _changed my mind._ Become soft, as he says. Weak.” He looked up and caught the blue eyes of the youngest Winchester. “You have a greater influence on me than Raphael likes.”

Adam’s chest felt swollen; whether with fear or excitement, he wasn’t quite sure. “I don’t understand,” he said, and really he didn’t. “I just...”

Michael suddenly pushed himself off the bed, both hands running through his hair in frustration. His eyes darted back and forth between Adam and the door as though he were contemplating just making a run for it and pretending they never tried having this conversation. It seemed to be going all over the place and Adam was having a hard time keeping up with the topic at hand – him, Raphael, Lucifer, the Apocalypse. They were all interconnected, and he knew that, and he had a suspicion why, but he wanted to hear the words from Michael himself, wanted the kind of affirmation only he could provide. 

Michael’s hand dropped to his sides and he looked helplessly at Adam. “I’ve got to say, sometimes I find you humans beings really... disappointing. And grotesque. And foolish. Just up-and-down foolish, foolish across the board. Ignorant and unkind and trivial and generally repulsive.” He caught the shocked and partially mortified look on Adam’s face and continued. “But somehow, Adam, you manage to be pretty spectacularly un-foolish, and it’s fairly impressive considering the multiple lives you’ve lived. Watching you makes me want to be un-foolish, too. Starting now. And I’m still working on it. But... I think I’m doing all right for a beginner, if I do say so myself.”

Adam sat there staring. He didn’t seem to be capable of doing anything else. His eyes were wide but they looked sad for some reason and the growing silence was making Michael a little uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Part of him wanted to just turn on his heel and leave, but he couldn’t very well do that with Adam sitting there like he’d been slapped. 

“...Well?” he asked at long last. “Are you not going to say anything?”

Adam shook his head but a tiny smile was ghosting across his lips. “You started out insulting me and then you gave me a compliment. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say, to be honest.”

“Say you don’t hate me for getting you involved. For making you a target for Raphael. For giving him and his followers reason to chase you and hate me.”

“Hey.” Adam stood up and opened his arms, wrapping Michael in a semi-awkward embrace. While Adam hugged him, Michael just stood there, arms at his sides, not quite sure whether or not he should return it. “It’s like you said – I would’ve gotten involved at some point anyway, right? I always end up here.” He sighed into Michael’s neck. “I might as well adapt.”

Michael’s frown deepened, if possible. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Adam said as he pulled away from Michael, hands still resting on his shoulders, “that I think it’s about time I learned how to use these new powers of mine. The next time Raphael comes for me, I’ll be ready.”

“Adam, no.” Michael shook his head. “It takes years, even decades to learn how to properly harness all of an angel’s powers, let alone an archangel’s.”

“Who said anything about learning _all_ of them? I just need basics. Spitting fire or throwing shards of ice or whatever stunts you guys pull.”

“They’re not ‘stunts.’”

Adam chuckled. “Tricks then. Abilities. I just need to know a few things so I can at least defend myself. I’ve never been able to do that before,” he added quietly, thinking back to the ghouls and to Zachariah.

It was Michael’s turn to try and comfort Adam. He cupped his cheek in his hand and stroked it with his thumb soothingly. Michael sighed. “Raphael will come back better prepared,” he warned gently. “He doesn’t know what you are yet, but he knows he couldn’t kill you normally the first time around and there’s no telling how long it’ll take him to figure out. It could be months, or it could be days. Hours even. We’ll never know until he comes. And he might have backup. He might bring some of his followers.”

“We can take them,” a new voice said from the doorway.

Adam looked over his shoulder as Michael turned and saw Sam standing there with his hands bracing either side of the doorframe. He didn’t look too happy with Michael’s hand on Adam so the archangel quickly dropped his arm and shuffled backwards, head bowed respectfully. He didn’t want to anger the Winchesters, not now. 

Sam stepped into the bedroom, unabashedly interrupting the two of them. “Whatever it is you need us to do to prepare, we can do it,” he offered. “Raphael won’t get to Adam. I promise.”

Adam frowned. How much of that had Sam heard? He looked to Michael questioningly but he had wiped his face of any previous emotion. Adam had to hand it to him: he was really good at pretending not to give a shit. 

“You think you can stop him?” Michael asked doubtfully, one eyebrow raised. “A ragtag group of humans, a newborn angel, and his loathed brother recently broken from Hell?”

“Better than nothing,” Sam said defensively. 

“You still have Castiel to worry about,” Michael said with a shake of his head. “Castiel, and Crowley, and Purgatory. Don’t load too much onto your plate, Sam. You might not be able to handle it all.”

“What, you think I’ll crack?”

“I don’t know,” Michael admitted. “But I’d rather not lose you in the process. You are... a good person, Sam, despite what others may say or think.” He awkwardly stepped forward and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, looking up slightly at the taller man. “I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself, physically or mentally, just because you think you aren’t good enough. You try and you try and that’s more than what many other humans do nowadays. Do not sell yourself short.”

Sam’s face was a mixture of sad, shocked, and touched; no doubt he hadn’t expected this to come from Michael, as the two of them were never exactly what you’d call ‘close’ or ‘friendly.’ He opened his mouth once to speak but nothing came out, so he closed it and merely cleared his throat, thinking of what to say. Eventually, he took up Michael’s words. “You’re right. I do try. And that’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna try our damndest to fight back. We can get rid of Raphael and save Cas. I know we can.”

Adam nodded at his older brother from behind Michael. “I’m game. Let Raphael try and stab me again, see what happens to him.” He meant it partially as a joke but a spark flares in his eyes for an instant as he thinks about how lucky he was that the butcher knife hadn’t done any actual damage to him. He knew if Raphael figured out what he was then he wouldn’t be so lucky next time.

Michael turned to look at him and studied his face momentarily, eyebrows creased in concern and worry as he quickly calculated the consequences of embarking on this path. War was already breaking the horizons in Heaven and there was nothing stopping Michael now from choosing sides. If he hadn’t spent years in the Cage, he probably would’ve been fighting alongside Raphael for his cause. After all, they’d once been on the same wavelength, causing in the same vein. But as Michael couldn’t afford to think like that anymore, the next logical move would be to side against Raphael, which meant helping Castiel. Michael couldn’t do that either. Castiel was bringing ruin down upon himself and everyone could see it but him. He couldn’t stop him, couldn’t influence him, so there was only one course of action left to take: he had to fight Raphael, yes, but without siding with Castiel. A third front. A third fight. The fight for the humans and everything they stood for and believed in. It was the only way to physically stop Raphael and maybe even get Castiel to change his mind and see things in a new perspective. To save him from himself. 

All of this was processed in a second or two at the most. Michael blinked and unglazed his eyes from thought before nodding slowly. 

“If we must fight,” he said, “then we must fight. I will do everything I can to help and protect you all. I will teach Adam how to use his grace.” He looked at the human and forced a smile. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Adam grinned. “Bring it.”


	8. On The Edge

There was no amount of preparation that could’ve been worked out for the afternoon Castiel breaks the wall in Sam’s mind. When he, Dean, and Bobby find Eleanor Visyak dying bloody in an alleyway moments after Castiel and Crowley drain her of most of her blood. Adam and Michael had been practicing with their graces in the backyard (Adam had moved on from healing himself and was now able to do simple things like bringing dead flowers and plants back to life) when they heard the Impala roaring into the drive like a lion. Car doors slammed and Dean’s voice carried on the wind, “Bobby, come on, help me out here! We gotta carry him in!”

Adam froze where he was crouched on the ground, a finger on a dandelion he’d just resurrected, and he looked curiously up at Michael who was judging him. They caught each other’s eyes for a split second before Adam stood up quickly and ran around the house with Michael close on his tail. 

“Dean! Sam!” Adam called out as he rounded the final corner, stopping short at the sight of Dean and Bobby carrying Sam limply between them as they struggled towards the house. “What the hell happened?” he asked, mouth agape.

“Open the door!” Dean huffed as he carried Sam’s top half with Bobby holding his legs. 

Adam ran to open both the screen door and the heavy wooden one as Dean and Bobby shuffled on by slowly. Michael trailed behind them, a frown perpetually etched into his face. Adam let the doors slam once everyone was inside and together he and Michael followed as Dean and Bobby led Sam down the stairs into the basement. 

“Where are you taking him?” Adam asked.

“Panic Room,” Bobby said brusquely. 

“Why the Panic Room?” 

“Adam!” Dean snapped as he looked back at him. “We’ll explain everything later, just...go practice your grace thing with Michael some more!”

Adam’s normally pale cheeks flushed red as he stood at the top of the stairs feeling like a small child who’d just been scolded. Oh, who was he kidding? He was a small child who’d just been scolded. He was about as useful as one, that was for sure, and it wasn’t like he’d be able to help much anyway. 

Useless. As per usual. Might as well be Adam’s middle name.

Adam turned on his heel and was about to try storming away a la Winchester attitude but Michael grabbed him around the shoulders and steered him back towards the basement stairs, his grip firm and unyielding.

“No. No running away,” Michael mumbled into Adam’s ear. “I know you, Adam. I know what you want to do. Go help.”

“But Dean said—”

“Since when have you ever cared what Dean says?” Michael asked with a mischievous twinkle in his green eyes. He gave Adam a little push so he had to jump down onto the top step to avoid falling. “Go on. I’ll meet up with you later. I...don’t believe I will be very welcome down there.”

Adam looked back at the archangel and gave him a pleading look but Michael shook his head 'no, he won’t let Adam get out of this so easily.' Adam had no choice but to grit his teeth and bear it as he descended the stairs, stomping a little harder on each one as he goes further into the blackness at the bottom. He could hear Dean and Bobby grunting and furniture shifting as they settled Sam into the Panic Room. 

Adam rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and stood just outside the Devil’s Trap on the floor in front of the Panic Room door (Dean had so graciously explained what the symbol meant about a week prior). He crossed his arms and watched as, sure enough, Dean propped Sam’s head up on a pillow and Bobby pulled up two chairs for them to sit on as they kept watch over Sam. 

Dean glanced up from Sam’s body and caught Adam standing there. “Adam, I told you to wait.”

Adam made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, well, I’m not waiting. What happened to Sam?”

Dean opened his mouth to possibly tell him to fuck off but Bobby cut to the chase. “Cas broke Sam’s wall and now we can’t get him to wake up.”

Adam frowned and stepped into the Devil’s Trap before actually entering the Panic Room and standing on the other side of Sam’s cot across from Dean. “Why would he do that?”

“To distract us,” Dean said sharply. “He doesn’t want us to stop him from opening Purgatory so he broke Sam’s wall to draw our attention away from him. That sneaky son of a bitch...” Dean ran his hand over his mouth as he trailed off, unable to go on any further. 

Bobby watched him with a slight frown on his face, assessing the eldest Winchester as a doctor would a patient. “Dean...I know you’re hurting,” he began slowly, “but we need to figure out what our next move is. Sam’s dam is broke on one end and on the other end we’ve got a self-righteous angel going about the wrong way to bringing peace on Heaven. In Heaven. Whatever.”

“So what do you want me to do, Bobby? Huh? You want me to just leave Sam here while we go chase Cas around like we’re playing friggin’ cat and mouse?” Dean snapped. He walked around the cot to stand in front of Bobby, shoulders tensed and slightly hunched. “We don’t even know where to start looking. He could be anywhere by now. Hell, we could already be too late for all we know!”

“You’re not,” a new voice said from behind Adam. 

Adam whirled around and regarded the unfamiliar figure with a raised eyebrow. Dark pants and a matching jacket and a deep V-necked light blue tee almost made the new guy blend in with the darkness of the basement behind him, but he stepped out of the shadows and the light from the Panic Room caught his face and made his blond hair shimmer a bit. Behind him, trying to hide from view but failing because of the bulk of his vessel, was Michael. Adam frowned, unsure of what to make of this unusual situation, but judging from their surprised reactions he assumed Dean and Bobby knew who the stranger was.

Sure enough, Dean greeted him none too kindly. “Well, well, well,” he mused, walking past Bobby to survey the man up close. “Fancy seeing you here after we tried calling you time after time.” The sarcasm is nearly palpable and for a moment Adam can almost see which Winchester he got his attitude from. 

The man shrugged one shoulder, clearly not bothered by the frustration that Dean seemed to be radiating. “This hasn’t exactly been the easiest week for me either, despite what you may think.” He had a hint of an English accent to his voice.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Dean asked.

The man sighed and stepped forward into the Devil’s Trap without care. Again, Adam watched him curiously. If he were a demon he wouldn’t so readily get himself trapped, would he?

“You’re asking me to betray a friend, Dean. It’s not something I take lightly...though I can see it doesn’t weigh too heavily on your conscience at all.”

Dean glowered at the man. _Yeah, _Adam thought to himself, _There’s definitely something different about this guy. He can’t be human. If he were, Dean wouldn’t hesitate to rip his head off his neck.___

But Dean didn’t make a move on the man, merely glared at him. 

Bobby cleared his throat. “Why’d ya decide to come now?”

The man jabbed his thumb backwards over his shoulder, pointing at Michael. “Big Brother is always watching me. Said it was an emergency.”

Bobby looked over the man’s shoulder at Michael. “You popped up to Heaven to grab him?”

“No. I called. He came.” Michael’s answer was brusque and to the point. 

The man suddenly spotted Adam and grinned widely. “And you must be the little vessel that could.” He reached forward with one hand, intending for Adam to shake it, but he did so hesitantly. “Balthazar. Angel of Heaven and all that fun stuff. I’m here to help.”

“Help how?” Dean asked as Adam dropped his hand from Balthazar’s. 

Balthazar looked up at him and smiled, though it was without real humor or joy. “I know where Castiel and Crowley are, where they’re planning on opening Purgatory.” 

He dug around in the pocket of his pants for a moment before pulling out a slim piece of paper on which was written an address in handwriting Adam could barely make out before Dean reached over and snatched it from him. Dean looked at the address and read it over once before glancing up at Balthazar, who held up his hands and said, “that’s all I owe you.”

“Take us there,” Dean said with just a hint of desperation in his voice, tainting his otherwise steely exterior with emotion. 

“Oh, no. I’ve already done my bit.”

“Bal—”

“ _No,_ Dean.” Balthazar’s voice is firm and commanding. “I’ve already done enough damage here.” He sighed and shook his head, eyes trained on the ground. “I’m betraying a friend, as are all of you. I can’t...I can’t hurt him anymore than giving you lot this address already will.”

With that said, he vanished on the spot before anybody could say anything otherwise.

\---

It was decided several heated minutes later that Adam would stay behind with Sam in case he woke up while Dean, Bobby, and Michael went after Crowley and Castiel. Michael didn’t seem too keen on letting Adam stay behind on his own, but Dean argued with him for what seemed like hours.

“Adam’s gonna be fine here, all right? He’s hopped up on angel juice, isn’t he? He’ll just stay in the Panic Room with Sam in case the poor bastard wakes up while we’re gone,” Dean repeated, speaking mostly to Michael as he packed guns into a black duffel bag sitting on the metal table in the Panic Room. 

Michael stood behind him, frowning, as Adam knelt on the floor on the opposite end of the room filling plastic bottles with holy water from a larger jug. “And what if Sam wakes? What should Adam do then?”

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “Bring him.”

“Bring him?” Michael repeated in disbelief. “You want Sam running around in that state of mind?”

Dean slammed the duffel bag down onto the table, making Adam jump, but Michael didn’t so much as blink. “Look, what else do you want me to say?” Dean shouted. “If I tell Adam to just stay put, d’you think he’s gonna listen? Huh?” Michael didn’t answer and Adam didn’t say anything, because everyone already knew that of course the answer was no. “So might as well give him permission to do whatever the hell he wants. He does it anyway.”

“Hey, Dean, I’m still in the room, you know,” Adam snapped viciously as he stood up, holy water in both hands. “You might as well talk to me if you’re gonna talk about me.”

Dean held up a hand. “Look, just cool your jets, corky—”

Michael had to turn and grab Adam around the waist to keep the boy from rushing at Dean. He’d dropped both water bottles on the floor – luckily they were shut tight – in his attempt to throttle his older brother. Dean backed up a step in surprise, not exactly expecting Adam to try and attack him.

“Jeez, what is _with_ you, man?” Dean asked incredulously, watching as Michael’s grip around Adam’s midsection tightened the more Adam struggled.

“Get the fuck off me!” Adam spat, digging his elbows into Michael’s chest. It didn’t do any good; Michael could barely feel it, as sharp as Adam’s elbows were. He hadn’t quite mastered his angelic strength yet so there was no budging the archangel for now. 

“Adam, calm down—” 

Michael tried to speak to him as calmly as possible but Adam clearly wasn’t listening. Blood was pounding in his ears and in his memories he tasted iron and felt his stomach clench and unclench as though it were trying to shove something up his throat and out of his mouth. Blood. Bile. The stench. He remembered none of it fit the décor of the room at the time, what with something so vile and disgusting taking place in a room so pristine and beautiful. 

Zachariah baiting him. Adam standing up to him, trying to fight back for Sam and Dean’s sake. 

And then: “Cool your jets, corky. Sit down. We’re doing it together. Plus, you still get your severance. You still get to see your mom, okay?”

Lies. It had all been lies. 

_Cool your jets, corky._

Fuck. The nerve.

Adam went slack against Michael’s chest, breathing hard as he shut his eyes tight and tried to drive the memory back down. He didn’t want to deal with it, not now. They already had enough on their plate as Michael had said. The last thing they needed to deal with was some more of Adam’s angst. 

Adam let out a dry sob as he tried pulling himself from Michael’s arms. “Let me go,” he pleaded, gasping for air as he did so. “Please. I just...” He didn’t finish but merely struggled a bit more before giving up again. 

Michael lowered Adam back to the ground but kept his arms around him, leaning in towards his ear and burying his lips in Adam’s straw-colored hair. “Adam, what is it?”

Adam shook his head, trying to swallow down the memory of the taste of his own blood. 

Dean watched, trying to keep a blank look on his face as he saw the archangel nuzzling his brother. Not exactly something he’d expected from either of them when he first heard they’d broken free, but this wasn’t the time to deal with that. There were priorities, and for now, Castiel came first above all else. Even Sam, though truth be told, as long as Adam stuck close to him, Dean was sure Sam would be fine. The question was: would Adam? That question alone reorganized Dean’s priorities. Adam was here, now, hurting. Visibly hurting. 

Neither hunter nor angel had any idea what was going on inside the youngest Winchester’s nogin right now, but once Adam had calmed down enough, Michael released his hold on him. Adam straightened out his shirt and ran both hands through his hair, taking deep even breaths, before he muttered “fuck” and sat down heavily in an empty seat, elbows on his knees and head bowed.

Dean was unsure whether he should leave him alone or try to talk to him. After a moment’s hesitation he gave Michael a look and luckily the angel understood, backing out of the Panic Room gracefully to give the brothers some alone time. Though Dean wasn’t as close with Adam as Sam was, he hoped maybe just by attempting to reach out to him that they could begin to fix that. It was all about baby steps, right? At least, that’s what Dean had been taught, anyway.

“Adam, what just happened?” Dean asked, opening the floor for him to explain. He leaned up against the table next to his youngest brother and crossed his arms over his chest, surveying him slowly. “I’ve never seen you like that.”

“’S nothing,” Adam lied, his voice low and exhausted. “I’m just...irritated. Didn’t get enough sleep the past few nights.”

Dean snorted. “Didn’t get enough sleep? You were about to rip my goddamn head off my neck. That doesn’t sound like a little crankiness to me.”

Adam didn’t respond or even move. Dean hesitated before trying again. “You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

“Is that a trick question?” Adam retorted.

Dean had to repress a snicker. At least the kid’s still got his killer attitude. “It’s not a trick question, Adam.” He pushed himself off the table and towered over him. “In fact, it’s a command. What’s going on with you?”

Adam looked up at Dean, eyes shadowed and tired. He didn’t speak for a moment and Dean was close to just giving up and letting him wallow in whatever misery he’d made for himself, but finally he spoke: “We never talked about it.”

“About what?” Dean asked.

“You leaving me behind that day.”

A hush fell over them, cloaking them both in heavy guilt. Dean tried to keep his face impassive but he was pretty sure he failed at doing so. He ran a hand over his mouth to try and buy himself some time to respond. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said with half a chuckle. “We, uh...we never did talk about that, did we?”

Adam watched him intently. “You’ve been avoiding it, haven’t you?”

Dean threw his arms out to his sides in confusion. “What else is there to say? I’m sorry, Adam. I really am, okay? I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire and that you got involved in all of our shit. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, all right? You were never supposed to be dragged into this. Not the first time when you were killed by the ghouls, not the second time when Michael came for you... never.” Dean couldn’t stop rambling now; the words were just pouring out. “You were supposed to grow up and live a normal all-American apple pie life. Go to college. Be a doctor. Marry. Have the life Sam and I were never meant to have.” It hurt Dean to say the following but he knew it was something Adam had to hear. “You were John’s second chance at raising a kid the right way. And he took it, god damnit. But you were left defenseless and alone in the process. And for that, I’m sorry.”

When he was finished, he turned his back on Adam and faced the wall, trying to hide the sheen of tears that had begun to build up while he’d been talking. He wasn’t one to cry usually, but when it came to John Winchester... hell, especially John’s double life as Kate Milligan’s lover and Adam’s father, it was just tough to handle. It’d been hard for Dean to accept that John had moved on from Mary at all. Dean always saw her as the love of his life, and Adam’s very existence had always tainted that picturesque image. 

Adam looked as a loss for words with his mouth slightly agape. He’d expected an apology, not a halfway rant. 

Dean turned to look at him again once he’d regained his composure. “I understand why you’re pissed. Believe me, I do. We called you family and then we left you behind like you were nothing. But you also have to believe me when I say that we tried. Hell, I even tried talking Death into springing you, but it was a no go. We looked into every piece of lore we could find and there was nothing that would work.” He paused, not sure if he should admit this aloud, but then figured to hell with it. “When I first saw that Sam had been brought back, a part of me...a small part...wondered if, maybe...” He trailed off, looking at Adam sadly.

Adam shook his head. “Obviously, no. I was still down there. But I saw—” he sighed, “—I saw Cas coming down and raising Sam. Michael was still riding me but I could see it happening. I wanted to...I wanted to grab on and go with them, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have control over my body. So I stayed.”

Dean frowned and said, “Yeah, what’s with you two, anyway?”

“Who? Me and Sam?”

“No. You and Michael. I’d have thought you’d be a little... wary of him after all that time down there together.”

Adam tried to hide the blush in his otherwise pale cheeks as he looked down at the metal plated floor. “Yeah, well... we changed, you know? He changed,” he amended. “I just kind of... grew on him.”

“Growing on someone doesn’t mean you two have to start... you know...” Dean couldn’t find the word for it. ‘Dating’ didn’t sound right because the two of them would never have that kind of conventional relationship. “Getting close,” he said, choosing the words carefully. 

Adam raised an eyebrow. “I think we’ve been pretty close enough already, don’t you think?”

Score one point for Milligan. Dean tried not to roll his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. You two aren’t exactly—”

“We’re not here to talk about me and Michael,” Adam interrupted. “And even if we were, I’d say it’s none of your business. We’re talking about you and me and Sam and what kind of fucked up family dynamic we’ve got going on here.”

Dean rounded on Adam. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Adam stood up from his chair at last and faced Dean. “Y’know, Sam talked this great big speech about family and how we gotta stick together because we’re all each other has. And then you two go and leave me behind to get my ass ridden for fucking _decades_ in Hell.”

“You were _right behind me,_ ” Dean hissed. “I thought you got out with us. It’s not my fault you were too busy looking up at your future boyfriend as he came down—”

Adam shoved Dean backwards into the wall and for a moment Dean could’ve sworn his eyes had turned completely white. It was a damn good thing Adam didn’t have his archangel strength flowing because otherwise Dean was pretty sure he’d have dented the wall, if not gone straight through it with the force Adam had tried putting behind the shove. 

Instead, Dean grunted with the force of the impact and reached out to grab the collar of Adam’s shirt as though grappling for a lifeline. 

“What are you gonna do? Huh?” Dean’s voice was challenging, a ‘come hither’ to fight, for Adam to use him to take his frustration out on, to hit him. “Come on, man. Hit me if it makes you feel any better. You get a freebie – I won’t even hit back, I promise.”

The look in Adam’s eyes screamed ‘yes.’ He wanted to punch Dean right in his stupid Winchester face. It would be a hell of a lot less of a punishment than Adam felt he deserved, but still, it would release a lot of the tension and frustration he’d been feeling for years in the Cage. But before he could even decide if he wanted to actually hit his brother, Sam groaned behind him. Adam turned, dumbstruck, as before his eyes Sam began to convulse, shaking and twitching like he was being electrocuted. Dean’s hands dropped from Adam and he was at his brother’s side in an instant.

“Sam? Sammy!” Dean shouted, lightly smacking his cheek with the back of his hand. “Come on, Sammy, snap out of it!” 

He didn’t even notice Adam slipping out of the Panic Room behind him.

\---

Michael hadn’t gone with Dean and Bobby quietly, but eventually they convinced him that Adam would be safest in the Panic Room anyway. And yes, he was allowed to bring Sam to the address Balthazar had given them, if Sam were to wake up while they were gone. Like Bobby had said – they’d need every helping hand they could find. 

With everyone gone, having driven away in the Impala to save whatever bit of Michael’s grace he would’ve had to use otherwise, Adam had nothing left to do but keep a close eye on Sam. Bobby had been nice enough to bring Adam some of the books from his seemingly endless library upstairs so he was keeping busy by flipping through dusty tomes filled with images of all sorts of creepy creatures. He wasn’t really reading the text so much as he was just looking for a way to pass the time. 

Sam wasn’t too difficult to take care of. The first few minutes he just laid there in his comatose state breathing normally with his eyelids occasionally twitching from the nightmares behind them. He stiffened on occasion but whenever Adam got up from his seat to check on him, his body would relax and he would go back to his peaceful breathing. 

Adam had just opened his third book to flip through the pictures when he heard Sam groan. He looked up from the top of the large volume and saw that Sam was starting to sit up, eyes clenched shut and one hand to his forehead.

“Sam!” Adam dropped the book on the ground in his rush to kneel by the cot. “Sam, take it easy, man. You’re all right.”

“A-Adam...?” Sam tried opening his eyes but the light burned and he turned his face away from the ceiling, hunching over to protect himself. “Damnit...”

Adam nibbled on his bottom lip before he spotted a small towel folded up on the metal table. He checked to make sure Sam wasn’t about to fall over sideways out of the cot before he scrambled to grab it and use it to wipe his brother’s sweaty forehead, making sure to press gently in case it was tender. Sam winced but didn’t pull away. 

“How’re you feeling?” Adam asked as he wiped the last of the sweat from his temple.

Sam shook his head slowly, eyes still shut tight and fingers massaging his forehead like he had a migraine. “Like I just got bashed in the head with a sledgehammer...”

“Sounds pleasant.”

Sam finally opened one eye to look at Adam. “Not funny.”

“Never said it was.”

Adam took the towel back and tossed it onto the table as he stood up, arms crossed as he looked down at Sam (that was a weird height change) and spoke. “Dean, Bobby, and Michael went after Cas while you were out of it. They’re gonna try and stop him opening Purgatory.”

That got Sam’s attention way better than Adam had thought it would. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and grabbed the hem of Adam’s shirt. The Winchesters were grabby today, it seemed. 

“We have to go help them,” Sam wheezed a little breathlessly. 

Adam stepped backwards, gently removing Sam’s death grip on his poor shirt. “All right, calm down. We’ll go help them. Balthazar gave us an address. But you really should rest before you go running off—”

Too late. Sam had already launched himself out of the cot and grabbed the handwritten address off the desk before pushing the heavy metal door open and making a beeline for the stairs. Adam had to run just to catch up with his longer strides.

\---

The wheel was spinning too quickly. 

Adam and Sam couldn’t reach the warehouse in time to stop Castiel, no matter how much pressure Sam put on the gas pedal, no matter how many traffic laws they broke to get there, no matter how hard Sam tried stabbing Castiel through the chest with the angel blade they’d brought from Bobby’s home weaponry stash. Their presence didn’t do any good, didn’t change the course of events that Castiel had set in motion long ago. 

Raphael died. Michael screamed.

And Castiel declared himself God.

\---

Michael had tried convincing Castiel to change his mind, that together they could perhaps convince Raphael not to continue down the path to the Apocalypse, but Castiel would have none of that. He was adamant, headstrong and shortsighted. Dangerous. 

When Castiel killed Raphael with the snap of his fingers, Michael almost rushed the angel who stood there, believing he to be taking up their Father’s mantle. He almost tried to kill him, despite the fact that somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that Castiel was a changed person and that he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Michael as well, if given the chance.

But when Michael made a move to rush Castiel, to try to kill him and possibly die in the effort, the world halted with the call of his name: “Michael! _No!_ ”

Michael stopped himself, looked for the source, found himself in those blue eyes, was saved.

\---

Sam, Dean, and Bobby opted to go in the Impala and drive the seven hours back to Sioux Falls despite Michael’s offer to zap them back there two at a time and then return immediately for the car. Dean wouldn’t have it for the sake of the Impala, and even if he gave the thumbs-up, Bobby said it was a bad idea in Michael’s weakened state for him to pop back and forth so often. He didn’t want Michael to use up any more grace unless it was an emergency; even though it would take another titanic event to come anywhere near completely depleting Michael of his grace, Bobby didn’t want to take any chances. With Castiel temporarily out of commission while he ran around playing God, Michael was their only usable weapon on the battlefield against demons and Hell and whatever else came for them. Adam was still only learning, barely out of his diapers. 

Adam, instead of sitting through another awkward semi-family road trip back to Bobby’s, tagged along with Michael as he popped them both into Bobby’s kitchen (at least he was given permission to bring the two of them back there). Michael leaned against the wall and Adam almost instantly collapsed into the nearest chair, emotionally and physically drained. 

They remained quiet for a few hours, with Adam occasionally moving to and from the fridge to grab slices of cold leftover pizza and Michael silently raiding Bobby’s bookshelf for something random to read. The only noises were the sounds of each other’s breathing as the seconds and the minutes ticked by on the clock hanging on the wall above the table. Adam stared at it absentmindedly on occasion, hypnotized by its rhythmic movement, not really zeroing in on one particular spot, when Michael finally spoke: “I couldn’t save him.”

Adam tore his gaze away to look at him. “What?”

“I couldn’t save Castiel,” Michael mumbled again, green eyes fixated on the ground. “I tried my best but it was for nothing. I couldn’t save Lucifer, and now I couldn’t save Castiel.” He looked up at Adam, anger disappearing from his eyes, replaced by sadness and confusion. “Why can I not save my brothers from falling?”

Adam got up from the chair and reached out to Michael with one hand, drawing him in by the shoulder and wrapping his thin arms around Michael’s neck. Michael froze for a moment and Adam was suddenly worried that maybe he’d gone too far. After all, Michael was always the one who initiated their every physical contact; what if that was to protect himself from uncomfortable situations like this? But soon Michael melted against Adam and his arms were around his narrow waist and his face was buried in the crook of Adam’s neck, finding a comfortable spot despite Adam’s bony shoulder. 

“You tried your best,” Adam said. It was a poor apology, and an even poorer excuse, but it was all he could think of saying. He wasn’t sure if Michael was the type to accept comfort or if he was more of a ‘Dean’ in that he’d always be blaming himself for everything no matter what anybody else said. 

As it turned out, being one of the many sons of God made you a ‘Dean.’

Michael shook his head, still with his face buried in Adam’s skin. “No. I did not try my best. If I had, Castiel would not have opened Purgatory and absorbed all those souls. He would be here, safe, or better yet in Heaven where he belongs.”

“Cas was doing what he thought was right,” Adam said, knowing he was treading on dangerous and unknown territory. He wasn’t sure whether or not saying these things would piss Michael off but he was willing to come to Castiel’s defense if that’s what it took. “He knew Raphael was too powerful and he knew you wouldn’t take up the challenge unless he provoked you.”

Michael sighs shakily. “That still does not make him right.”

“But it’s what he _believed_ was right. He did the best he could with what he had. Just like you did, when you tried to stop him the first time.” Adam started rubbing soothing circles on Michael’s back, trying to comfort him in a way he remembered his mother doing when he was younger. “There was no stopping him, Mike. He was too far gone already.”

Adam could feel Michael’s frown buried into his shoulder. “I should have found a way... another way...”

Adam pulled away from the hug slightly so he could use one hand to lift Michael’s chin so their eyes locked. Blue met green in an electric moment and Adam enunciated every word: “You need. To stop. Blaming. Yourself.”

And without really thinking why or what was to be gained out of doing so, Adam pulled Michael’s face closer and closed the gap between their lips. His heart was racing at such an erratic pace that for a moment he thought the poor thing was just going to give out altogether. But then Michael’s hand wandered up from his waist up his stomach and chest to cup the back of his neck gently, moving against Adam’s lips with such finesse and tenderness that it made Adam wonder if Michael had been thinking about new techniques since the last time this happened, and his heart began to calm itself. 

Suddenly Adam found himself turned around completely, now with his back against the wall instead of Michael’s, their lips still locked together. The archangel’s hand on his waist was tight and Adam was sure he was going to bruise there but he didn’t really give a shit right now. 

Michael pulled away breathlessly, panting a bit to catch his breath. He pressed his forehead against Adam’s and asked, “why did you do that?”

Adam couldn’t stop the smirk that crossed his face. “Because I figured it was the only way to shut you up.” He tilted his head and kissed him again, quickly. “And because I knew if I didn’t, you wouldn’t.”

Michael growled – literally _growled_ – a little before pulling Adam back and crushing their lips together again, this time more aggressively than the first time, if that was even possible. Adam couldn’t help but moan a little into the kiss before Michael pulled away just as quickly as he’d started.

“Th-This isn’t right,” Michael stammered, but his grip didn’t loosen. “I shouldn’t...I mean, we shouldn’t...”

Adam caught the whine that almost broke through his lips; instead, he sighed and tried to press himself closer to Michael, trying to touch any part of him he could reach: arm, chest, hand, neck, shoulder, anything. He just needed to feel that Michael was there with him in that moment and that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It was fucked up, without a doubt, the way Adam felt about Michael given what they’d been through. It shouldn’t be like this. Adam should be trying to get as far away from the feathered fiend as possible. This was the angel who’d taken him as a vessel despite the grey area and the unclear lines that had been drawn. This was the angel who’d ridden him right into Hell, the angel who’d left him to Toretan whether he’d known it at the time or not. 

But the more Adam thought about it, the more he began to realize that what he’d applied to Castiel also applied to Michael: he’d just been trying to do what he thought was right. How could he condemn Michael for the same thing he’d just defended Castiel? 

“Listen,” Adam said, trying to make his voice as authoritative as possible, though he wasn’t so sure how he could possibly manage that, as a human speaking to a friggin’ archangel. “I’m not good with the whole ‘romantic declaration’ thing, but I can give it a shot, okay?” When Michael frowned, Adam plowed on in an attempt to reverse it. “There are a lot of ‘shouldn’ts’ running around right now. We shouldn’t be out of the Cage. I shouldn’t be alive. I shouldn’t be an archangel. You shouldn’t be turning into a human. Castiel shouldn’t have opened Purgatory. Sam shouldn’t have to struggle with his wall being torn down. Dean shouldn’t have to rely on beer to get him through the day.” Adam cupped Michael’s cheek in his hand, running a thumb over his cheekbone gently. “What’s the harm in adding one more ‘shouldn’t’ to the mix?”

Michael closed his eyes, drinking in the warmth of Adam’s hand, tilting his head slightly to the side so he could press more of it against his face. He remained like that for a moment or two and Adam was almost dying with the tension. He’d dealt with rejection before, of course, but this... this would be different. This was already different, in more ways than one. Adam wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle Michael saying no to him when he only now just realized he’d already said his yes to him years ago. 

After another moment of Michael’s silence, Adam finally added, “Look. There will never be another you, and there will never be another me. Are we going to make this happen or not?”

That was all it took for Michael to reel Adam back in for another kiss, a gentler one where he tasted every inch of Adam’s lips, melting back against him and pressing him back into the wall. Adam’s hands wandered to Michael’s hips where his long fingers hooked around his belt loops and drew him in closer, trying to get him as close as possible before—

“Hey!” Dean’s voice ripped the air apart around them.

Michael jumped away, gasping a bit in surprise while Adam barely had time to remove his fingers from his jeans before they were ripped off. 

The elder Winchester stormed into the kitchen, eyes shadowed by a mixture of rage and pain. “Are you two fucking kidding me?”

“Dean, wait, calm down.” Sam appeared behind him, one hand reaching out to grab onto the back of his jacket, but Dean moved away too quickly and Sam swiped at empty air. 

“No, Sam, I will _not_ calm down!” Dean roared, stepping into the space left between Adam and Michael. He looked from one to other as if trying to figure out whom he should be yelling at. He took the safer route and rounded on Adam. “This is what you do? Cas is off doing God knows what – don’t _smirk_ at me – and Sam here is barely holding it together, and you go off and hook up with Buttercup over here?”

Before Adam could respond, Michael said, “humans deal with grief in different ways, Dean. It’s not uncommon for someone to find solace and comfort in the presence of someone else and try to hide their anguish.”

Dean turned on his heel. “Don’t even get me started on you. You have no say in this. You’re not a part of this family!”

“I thought blood didn’t make you family,” Adam snapped. “Or did that only apply to Castiel because you’re so fucking in love with him?”

This time it was Dean’s turn to shove Adam into the wall and it took all of Adam’s self control to keep his wings from flaring out in defense mode, which Michael had taught him a few days ago. Adam’s spine cracked with the force of the push; no doubt Dean wasn’t holding back because he knew Adam couldn’t die from it, the bastard. 

“Dean, stop it!” 

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulder and tried to pull him away but all Dean did was shrug his jacket off and aim a punch at Adam’s face. Adam shut his eyes, his face screwed up as he prepared for the blow, but instead he felt the floor fall away from his feet and the rush of cool air against his skin and through his hair. There was a strong hand gripping his forearm and the pressure didn’t release until he felt himself stop moving. When the wind died down and Adam felt his feet touch something solid again, he opened his eyes slowly. 

As he predicted, they weren’t at Bobby’s house anymore. Michael had grabbed him and transported him somewhere else to keep Dean from hurting him and to get them both away from the ever-present Winchester drama. 

It was nighttime here and they were standing side by side in the middle of a snow-covered field, their feet sinking a few inches into the white powder. Adam wrapped his arms around his torso in an attempt to warm himself up (he could see his breath in the night air). Without saying a word, Michael sidestepped behind him and wrapped his arms around Adam, hugging him tight to his broad chest and kissing him on the shoulder so gently that Adam couldn’t help but smile a little. 

“Where’d you bring us?” he asked.

Michael sighed into his shoulder. “I wasn’t sure at first...everything happened too fast and I had to make a split-second decision. But...” he trailed off as he forced Adam to turn around and face him, never letting go of him in the process. When they were nearly nose-to-nose, Michael motioned his head behind him. “Take a look for yourself.”

Adam peeked over his shoulder and at first, he didn’t see what the big deal was, but as his eyes adjusted to the combination of the colorless sky and the bright snow, he slowly began to make sense of what he was seeing and gasped at the sight of his old home in Windom.


	9. A Little's Enough

Adam led Michael across the silent street and up to the front porch of his house; he looked calm on the outside but otherwise felt jittery and nervous. He hadn’t returned here at all since his first resurrection, having deemed it too sad and painful to come back, but that was when he thought he’d been on his own, as per usual. With Michael here, at least there would be a comforting hand to hold him up as he looked at the house for the first time in years and absorbed the chipped paint, the rotting wood of the porch stairs, the mustiness he could almost smell from its disuse. 

Together they stood there, simply staring, when Michael prompted, “Are you all right? Do you want me to take us somewhere else? I believe Florida is pleasant this time of year.”

Adam smiled a bit and shook his head. “No. Thanks, but no. This is something that... something that I should’ve done before.” He looked at Michael before taking his hand and giving it a light squeeze. “I’m just glad I’m not alone.”

Michael nodded. “I am here.”

\---

Adam moved through the house like a silent ghost, his feet kicking up little clouds of dirt and dust when he walked. He looked around frowning, curious, wondering... 

“Why hasn’t anyone moved in?” he asked aloud, hoping Michael could provide some sort of answer. “You’d think after they realized my mom and I weren’t coming back that they’d clean up and resell the place, don’t you?”

He turned to look at Michael standing near the bottom of the stairs and was surprised to find him blushing pink. Adam grinned at the sight. Maybe him being closer to human wasn’t entirely bad after all.

Michael cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I may have...pulled some strings to make sure the house remained unoccupied during what was supposed to be your...temporary absence.”

Adam stared. “Wh-What?”

Michael shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as though he were embarrassed. “I made sure the house would remain empty while you were gone. I thought...you’d want to come back once the Apocalypse was over. Peace on Earth. Peace in your home, with your mother.”

“With my mother?”

Michael cocked his head to the side. “Yes. Kate. You didn’t think everything Zachariah said was a lie, did you?” He couldn’t resist the humorless chuckle. “He may be a...a ‘slimeball’...but he was telling the truth. Had we won the Apocalypse, you would’ve been reunited with her.”

Adam’s blood ran cold and then hot at the thought of being so close to having his mother back in his life, only to have the opportunity slip through his fingers. What was he supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to react? 

Heartbeat racing, head pounding, mind and body exhausted, Adam breathlessly pushed past Michael to run up the stairs.

“Adam?” Michael called worriedly.

“I need the bathroom!” Adam shouted over his shoulder; he was almost sure he was about to throw up.

He rounded the top of the stairs and practically flew into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as calmly as possible before he turned the light on – electricity was still working, that was a good sign – and gripped the edges of the sink, breathing hard. 

He stood there, back hunched as he assessed, for the first time since he escaped the Cage, what was in front of him. Pale skin on his arms, smooth and unmarked. A romantic shock of blonde hair that nearly fell in front of his eyes; he’d been meaning to get it cut for weeks now but didn’t have enough motivation to actually make it to the barber’s – or leave Bobby’s property at all. He lifted a hand and lightly touched his chin, where a day’s worth of short, prickly stubble was beginning to grow. He needed a shave. Too lazy to shave now. And it wasn’t the right moment. He’d do it later.   He shucked his beige jacket off his shoulders, lifted his black shirt over his head, and tossed it to the ground. He was surprised by the lack of physical damage from being in the Cage. Not a scar on his body, not a bruise to be seen, not a burn to be healed. There weren’t even dark circles under his eyes anymore. Every physical trace of torment and distress was erased from his body, but the mental scars, the memories, would be harder to get rid of, no matter how much grace was in his body. They might not affect him, but he could still remember.  

Despite his best efforts, a sob broke through the barrier he’d tried to create. It was loud and echoed in the mostly-empty bathroom. He quickly shoved his fist to his mouth to try and stifle the oncoming barrage of whimpers.   

There was movement outside the bathroom door. “Adam?”  

The archangel outside didn’t wait for an invitation, but merely turned the knob – Adam had forgotten to lock it – and stepped in. Michael took one look at the human boy, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, before enveloping his smaller frame in his arms, shushing him and caressing his hair like a parent would a child. Adam buried his face in Michael’s shoulder and bit down on his bottom lip to try and control himself; the skin broke and he tasted the iron of his own blood.   

“Adam.” Michael didn’t so much as say his name as breathed it into his hair. “I understand.”

  Adam shoved his face deeper into Michael’s shoulder, as if trying to force the archangel to absorb him. Michael tightened his grip on the human.   

“You are one of the strongest humans I’ve ever come across,” Michael said softly. “You were strong when I first met you and you still are now. You can overcome this, whatever this is.”  

Adam bit back an oncoming cry just in time to grit his teeth and say, “How do you know?”

  Michael smiled into Adam’s blonde hair. “I spent over a hundred years with you. I know you.” He kissed the top of his head. “And you haven’t changed a bit.”

\---

For weeks, Adam and Michael were able to live in blissful ignorance as the Winchesters didn’t come for them. Adam could only assume that they’d opted to leave him and Michael alone and he hoped it stayed that way for a while. They were finally falling into some strange masquerade of peace and calm, and even though Adam knew the curtain had to fall at some point, he wanted to prolong it as long as possible. 

Adam would make all of his own meals in the kitchen, the atmosphere odd and unsettling without the usual clamor of the radio or his mother’s humming while she scuttled back and forth between the oven and the pantry. At first Michael would refrain from eating meals with him, using the usual excuse that he didn’t have to eat, but every day his human side seemed to emerge more and more until eventually Adam was forced to start making breakfast for two (not that he minded at all).

Free time was spent doing absolutely nothing of import, which for both of them was an odd kind of therapy. Adam, who was used to studying for exams and writing essays before his life was turned upside-down, found solace in the quiet life he now lived; he spent a lot of his time reading and generally lazing around the house. Michael, too, was at ease in Windom, as he was used to the disorganized and chaotic order of Heaven. Lounging around without anything to stress over was a foreign experience to him, but Adam helped him along with gentle words. 

Adam was perfectly content with just himself and Michael and nobody else. They didn’t need to leave the house for anything. Michael continued to make random food objects appear from the grocery store whenever Adam ran out of things to cook. When Adam wanted new books or clothes, Michael would fetch them within minutes. And even when Adam wanted to leave the house to go out somewhere, Michael always brought them somewhere far away from most remnants of civilization: a small town in Florida, an empty field for a dinner-picnic in Montana, a secluded rooftop date in Rome, a private spot on the Eiffel Tower. They lived a quiet existence together and Adam was more than fine with that. 

Their sleeping arrangement began in stages, where first Adam would occupy his old bed and Michael would sleep in Kate’s until one night when Adam was awakened by a gentle but frantic shake of the shoulder. Adam groggily opened his eyes and unwittingly drank in the sight of a shirtless Michael standing by his bedside, his face a mask of confusion and exhaustion. He was breathing shallow, uneven breaths, making a panicked sort of gasping noise with every intake. Adam sat up on his elbows, chasing sleep and dreams from his eyes, trying to focus on the angel.

“Michael?” Adam groaned, blinking hard. “What...what’s wrong?”

Michael didn’t answer – merely sat on the edge of Adam’s bed and swung his legs over so he could shift and lie down next to him, staring up blankly at the ceiling with his arms at his sides, stiff as a board. Adam stared. 

“Mike. What happened? You look like you’ve seen Dean naked or something.”

Michael didn’t crack a smile. The darkness of the night around him seemed to still and blacken as they lay side-by-side in silence. His breathing became calmer, smoother, and Adam reached out, fingers searching for Michael’s hand on top of the blanket. 

Finally, he spoke. “Nightmare.”

“Nightmare. You had one?” Adam asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concern. If Michael was having nightmares for the first time, it could only mean he was closing in on his humanity, with more and more grace slipping, lost, between his fingers.

“Yes. My first.”

Adam shifted closer to him so their shoulders touched. “It’s not real, you know.”

The angel chuckled without humor. “That is not my concern. I simply... dislike it. It bothered me.”

“It’s supposed to.” Adam rolled onto his side and moved his hand to prop his head up, arm bent at the elbow and resting on his pillow. “It’s not supposed to make you feel good about yourself or anything.”

Michael sighed. “It’s no wonder you humans are usually so irritable. If you have to put up with one of these every night...”

Adam smiled crookedly. “It could be a reason, sure.”

Michael was quiet for another moment before he rolled over to face Adam, his eyes bright in the darkness around them, green and electric. “Do you have nightmares often?”

Adam stiffened, his skin suddenly prickly with goose bumps. Michael didn’t seem to notice, instead fixating on stroking Adam’s forearm with his fingertips, staring at the space between his collarbone and shoulder as though there was something interesting there. His distraction gave Adam time to think of a response that didn’t make Michael sound like the guilty party. 

“I get them a lot, yeah,” he said slowly, “but I know how to deal with them.”

“And how’s that?”

“Well, this, for one.” Adam shifted closer to Michael in the bed, lying down on his side and nuzzling as close to him as possible. He slipped one leg in between Michael’s and curled up against his chest, breathing in his scent slowly. He hesitated a beat before saying, “this is cuddling.”

“I know what this is.”

“This helps with the nightmares.”

“And you’d... cuddle every time you had one?”

Adam grinned against Michael’s chest. “No, not exactly. But I would whenever I could. Especially when I was younger.”

“Mm, yes, I remember.” Michael brushed across one of the memories he’d picked up from Adam. “You’d sneak into your mother’s room and sleep on the floor next to her bed, all wrapped up in blankets, until she woke in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and nearly stepped on you.” He smiled a little as he watched the scene play out before him like it had done so many times before. “And she’d pretend to be mad at you but she’d always let you climb into bed with her and sleep there for the night.” He slid one arm underneath Adam and pulled the boy closer to him, burying his nose in his gold hair. “Let’s for the moment pretend that I am your younger self, then.”

Adam snorted. “Nightmare scared you?”

“I don’t get scared.” Michael sounded offended. 

“Oh. So I guess you don’t need to cuddle then...”

Adam started to roll away but Michael grabbed him around the waist with his other arm, gently but forcefully pulling Adam back towards him with a small smile on his face. 

“I still want you here,” Michael murmured. 

Adam leaned up and kissed him gently, the soft touch of Michael’s lips amplified in the dark. “And I _want_ to be here.”

They both fell asleep soon after, with Michael holding onto Adam like he was the one thing keeping him tethered to the world, and since then they’ve shared Adam’s bed.

\---

Their calm – or at least, their semblance of calm – was shattered on a relatively chilly Thursday afternoon when there was a knock at the door. 

And everything changed. Again.

\---

“Sam? Bobby? What...what are you doing here?” 

Adam sounded less than thrilled to see them even though they’d, in essence, done nothing wrong. It was merely the fact that they were here, that they now held some kind of tangible existence in Windom. As long as they’d stayed away, Adam was somehow able to pretend that they were nonexistent, that they were occupants in a corner of his mind that he kept locked away and hidden, but now here they were.

Sam studied Adam’s face, no doubt drinking in the circles under his eyes, the pale skin, the obvious signs that despite the happiness in the life Adam lived with Michael now, there was still something dark at his heels. “Hey, Adam. It’s...really good to see you.” And that wasn’t a lie. 

Adam swallowed hard and nodded. “Been awhile.” He paused. “How’s Dean?”

“Oh he’s, y’know. Around.”

Adam hadn’t asked _where_ he was, but he decided to let it go and stepped to the side. “You guys can come in. Mike’s not here. Went out for groceries. He should be back any minute.”

“That’s okay. We kinda need to talk to you alone anyway,” Sam admitted as he stepped into the house, looking around with a slight frown on his face. Bobby followed, equally as hesitantly.

Adam shut and locked the door behind them before leaning against the wood and folding his arms over his chest, on the defensive despite the fact that he knew and trusted the two of them. “Oh? What’s up?”

Sam looked at Bobby questioningly, who said, “Wanna sweeten it up or should we just spit it out?”

“Spit what out?” Adam demanded.

“Bobby, it’s a lot for him to take in.”

“It was a lot for _all_ of us to take in.”

“Guys,” Adam interrupted. “I’m right here. Just tell me.”

Bobby finally looked up at Adam and the look on his face made his heart sink. Why was Bobby staring at him as though this was their last time seeing each other? Granted, he and Bobby weren’t the closest, but to have the old man look at him that way...

“Bobby,” Adam said gently, “whatever it is, I can handle it. Been through Hell, remember?” He tried to make it a joke but Bobby winced. “I can take whatever you guys learned.”

“It’s not that we don’t think you can take it,” Bobby explained. “It’s just...”

“We would give anything to let you live a normal life, Adam,” Sam tagged on. “And I mean that. Getting you involved in all of this...it’s not what we wanted. Especially if it meant dying and going to Hell. And especially if we’d known...if we’d known what all of this means for you.”

“And what’s that?”

Sam began to explain where he, Dean, and Bobby had been these past few weeks: dealing with these new creatures, called Leviathans. Apparently when Castiel opened Purgatory to absorb the souls there, he’d also absorbed these unholy creatures onto the Earth, creatures predating humans and angels and were therefore among one of God’s first creations. They were ruthless and constantly hungry, which was why God had locked them in Purgatory in the first place. But now they were out, roaming the land, and nobody had any inkling as to what their end game was. All they knew was that they had to be stopped, and soon.

Hearing that Castiel hadn’t made the quest to return the souls and the Leviathans back into Purgatory was like a blow to the chest for Adam. The creatures had clung onto Castiel, overtaken him, and now he was gone, the odd but easygoing angel whom Adam had actually grown to like the more he hung around him. And Adam barely had a moment’s second to breathe and process this information before Sam and Bobby continued. 

“There’s a verse in the Talmud,” Bobby said, launching right into the nitty gritty after Sam was finished with his Spark Notes version of the last few weeks. “Baba Bathra 75b. It’s Babylonian. There’s been a lot of controversy over what the actual translation is, but from what I gather, there are at least three different schools of thought as to what it means.”

“Okay...” Adam didn’t see where this was going at all. 

Bobby held up one finger. “Option one: God will come and rip these Leviathans a new one and feed its body to the masses. Option two,” he went on, ignoring the disgusted look on Adam’s face, “is that Gabriel will do the job solo. Quick and dirty. And option three...option three is a little less known, but it’s the one what we’re banking on.”

“Which is?”

Bobby hesitated. “Gabriel _and_ Michael will kill the Leviathans. Together.”

Adam stood there, blinking, putting the pieces together as he realized what Bobby was insinuating, the reason he and Sam were here. “That’s...that’s stupid. No. I’m not...I’m not even really Gabriel!” he burst out. “I’m still Adam!”

“Trust me, we know. But you’re carrying his grace, and that’s enough to—”

“To _what,_ Sam? To justify dragging me into even more of your supernatural bullshit? No thanks. I’m done. I’m fucking done. Haven’t you guys figured that out yet? Or has the last couple of years not given you a fucking clue?” His voice was gaining volume as he tried to suppress the rising hysteria. _He was so close to normalcy._ “Let Michael do it on his own. He’s a friggin’ archangel, he can handle a couple of forked-tongued freaks.”

“Michael’s getting weaker every day and you know it,” Bobby chided him. “He’s eventually not gonna have enough juice to waste even two Leviathans, let alone the boss daddy of them all, which is the one we have to worry about the most.”

“Michael’s stronger than you think.”

“Open your eyes, Adam!” Bobby began to shout. “He’s not as strong as he used to be, and you know it. You can see it. You’ve been with the damn angel every day for near two months now, how can you not—”

“I can’t do it!” Adam snapped, pushing himself off the door and taking a wider stance on the floor, like he was ready to fight if need be, just to convince these two that he was _done._ “Don’t you fucking get that? I’m not a hunter or a fighter! I’m barely an angel! I don’t know _anything_ about killing these things and you expect me to fight the _boss?_ Like in some twisted fucking video game?”

“We know it’s not fair to ask this of you—” Sam tried to cut in.

“Damn straight it isn’t fair! Not by a long shot!”

“Adam this is our only option. We can’t just sit on our thumbs and wait for God to show up on our doorstep asking where the Leviathans are so he can kill them and roast them on a spit.” Sam sounded much calmer than Bobby. “It’s either you fight them alone, or you fight them with Michael. But it’s always gonna have to involve you.”

Adam tightened his jaw, eyes burning, hands curled into fists at his sides.

 Sam tried to step towards him but Adam backed up quickly. “I’m sorry.” Bona fide regret was laced with the watering eyes only Sam Winchester could give. “I’d give anything not to bring you into this, but...it’s been done. You were given Gabriel’s grace and now...now you have to bear the responsibility that goes with it.”

“I wasn’t given _shit,_ ” Adam hissed violently. “ _I’m_ the one who gives everything. Haven’t you noticed? I give you guys _everything_...” His voice caught in his throat and he couldn’t go on. 

“Adam.”

Everyone turned towards the living room as Michael appeared and dropped the two hefty bags of groceries onto the couch, concerned eyes never leaving his counterpart. He pushed passed Sam and Bobby – not rudely, but just the same he never spared them a glance – and gathered Adam in his arms, crushing him to his chest and burying his face in the crook of Adam’s neck. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Michael murmured into his skin, sounding so broken that it sent Adam over the edge and he gripped at Michael’s back, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. Michael tightened his hold as though he could somehow squeeze the sadness out of him but that only succeeded in making Adam feel worse. 

“Michael,” Sam said gently, carefully, from behind him, “we had to tell him.”

Michael sighed, his breath ruffling Adam’s hair. “I know you did.”

A pause. “You knew?” Adam pulled away from Michael a bit so he could meet his green eyes. “You... you knew about this?” He didn’t care that he sounded disgustingly congested from the snot collecting in his nose as he cried. 

“I...” Michael looked down at Adam in his arms, looking so crestfallen that Adam’s chest constricted. “Yes, I...I had prior knowledge of this.”

Sam and Bobby fell away from the world as Adam mentally reeled in shock. “And you didn’t...”

“I didn’t think to tell you. Adam, you wanted to be as far away from their lives as possible, I thought by telling you of this...this fate...it would only haunt you. It would tie you to the Winchesters even more. I thought you didn’t want that.” So hurt, so confused. 

“I _don’t_ want that. But, Michael...something this big...”

“You’d want to know,” Michael finished for him a little sadly. “Yes, I...I realize that now.” He carded his fingers through Adam’s hair, growing a little shaggier now, like back when he was nineteen before he was killed the first time. Michael tilted Adam’s chin up so they could lock eyes. “But I also know you will not be alone in this. I may be weaker than what I once was, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.” He leaned and pressed his lips to Adam’s once, carefully, as though afraid Adam would hit him for doing so. “I’ll be by your side when you face them, and then some. I won’t leave unless you want me gone.” Michael kissed him again. “But please Adam, try to understand—”

“I need to think.” Adam shook his head from side to side; Michael ran the tips of his fingers down his cheek and to his jaw. “I...I need to think for awhile. This is...a lot.” 

Michael nodded but he continued to search Adam’s face attentively, looking to see if maybe there was any distrust or anger hidden away behind the vivid blue. “I understand.” And he did, but he didn’t release Adam just yet, wanting a few more seconds with him before he let go and Adam walked out into the world with new knowledge, a changed man, a soldier drafted into the next war.

\---

Adam left. He left with all the intention and air of someone who wasn’t planning on coming back anytime soon, having grabbed his wallet, cell phone, and jacket on the way out and slamming the door shut behind him without so much as a backwards glance at anybody, Michael included. He knew that Adam was angry with him, but he wasn’t sure about the levels of his anger. Would Adam give him the cold shoulder? Stop talking to him? Leave? 

Michael groaned a little and held his head in his hands, elbows resting at the kitchen table in front of which he sat while Bobby worked at making dinner for them at the stove. Sam sat across from Michael, studying the fading archangel curiously, a half-finished beer at hand. Michael felt the eyes watching him but he waited another minute or two before finally speaking: “Sam, if you’ve got something on your mind, by all means, speak freely.”

Sam blushed a little at having been caught staring but he shook it off. “It’s just...you and Adam.”

“Yes. We’re together,” Michael answered without skipping a beat. “I would call him my boyfriend but Adam seems to think that phrase is a little...‘light’, considering what we’ve been through.”

“Got that right,” Bobby interjected from his place at the stove, and Michael’s lips twitched. 

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. And, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see that Adam found someone in this whole mess. The thing is—”

“You didn’t expect it to be me,” Michael finished. He caught Sam’s eye. “It’s all right, Sam. I get it.”

“You kinda ruined his life, Mike,” Sam said with a half laugh, and Michael was surprised to find that the nickname no longer bothered him. Perhaps because Adam used it so often that it became commonplace. That was the purpose of a nickname, was it not?

Michael couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, looking down at the table. “I suppose I did. Unintentionally, mind you.” He went back to frowning. “Adam was never supposed to be mine. He was supposed to be temporary. But Dean...Dean’s a stubborn one.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sam said and jokingly took a sip of his beer. Once he was done he stared at the brown bottle in his hand, turning it over as he spoke. “But considering what you did to Adam, you seem to really be trying hard to make him happy. And I’m grateful for that, I really am.” Sam looked up at Michael and smiled a little forlornly. “Adam needs something constant in his life.”

Michael’s frown deepened a bit. “I think you’re putting a little too much faith in what we have here, Sam. You saw the way he left just now. I...I’m not good at this. At being near human and having a human relationship. It’s so strange to me, the things that you humans do. I only _just_ learned what an Eskimo kiss is yesterday morning.” He shook his head. “You humans are an enigma that has long escaped me. Adam is no exception. In fact, he just makes things more difficult.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “But...?” he prodded, expecting more; Michael remained silent. Sam sighed and tried to goad him into continuing, sensing there was more to what Michael had to say. “Mike, what one thing do you want for yourself more than anything else?”

Michael pursed his lips. So many things he wanted, but Sam was asking for only one. He wanted his grace back, all of it. He wanted to be able to ascend to Heaven, to go home. He wanted his Father back. He wanted Lucifer to stop his childishness and admit fault so he could return, so they could be brothers again. He’d wanted all of these things for different periods of time, some for only a few months, others for centuries, millennia. Those were the hardest to hope for because they’d been wishes for his for so long but nothing was ever done about them. He couldn’t do anything to change them in the past, so why would now, here, today be any different? As it was, there was only one immediate thing he _could_ change and did want for himself.

“Adam. To be with Adam.” Michael’s chest felt heavy.

Sam’s smile was soft and comforting. “Then why don’t you go after him?”

“Because that’s what I want for _myself._ What I want most for _him_ is for him to simply be happy. And he won’t be happy with me.”

“So... that’s it then? You’re leaving him?” Bobby interrupted them as he turned away from the stove, spatula in hand like a weapon ready to throw. 

Michael bowed his head. “If that’s what Adam wants, then—”

“You angels. You’re always so damn _blind,_ ” Bobby snapped. He tossed the spatula onto the counter next to him and rounded on Michael, well and truly peeved. “Adam _loves_ you, you stupid head case. He’s not about to get up and _leave._ So what, he’s pissed off right now. Well not every human relationship is rainbows and cotton candy every second of the day. You’re gonna fight, you’re gonna get on each other’s friggin’ nerves and sometimes you’re gonna wanna smite the shit out of his smug little face while he wants to rip every feather from your wings. But that doesn’t mean it’s time for you to give up and call it quits.” He looked so incensed with Michael’s ignorance that Sam almost thought Bobby would try to smack him upside the head. “You two need to sit down and work through the swamp of bullshit you’ve both managed to create, and that’s that. No running from it, no hiding, no more keeping secrets. You gotta be honest with each other. That’s what you do when you love somebody, you damn idjit.”

Sam, with his mouth slightly open in awe at Bobby’s sudden command of the conversation, looked pointedly over at Michael who was also staring at the older man with something like a mixture of admiration and shock on his face. No human had dared yell at him like that before; Adam had come close on one or two occasions, but those were trivial things, minute flaws in the fabric of their lives. 

“I do, though,” Michael said, though he sounded a little unsure of himself. “I only keep secrets to keep him safe. I thought that’s what he wanted: to be kept away from your lives.” He nodded to Sam and Bobby respectfully. “But he seems to hate being ignorant to your lives much more than being part of them.”

“He’s a challenge,” Sam agreed. “But if you think he’s worth it, you gotta fight for him. Or one day, he _will_ leave.”

Michael nodded a little absentmindedly, taking in Sam’s words and thinking them through. He knew fixing things with Adam would only work so well; the cracks in their relationship were so deep that they’d never heal completely, forever leaving scars and grooves behind, but it was better than leaving them unnoticed or unspoken of. Sam and Bobby were right. He couldn’t let Adam just run, not without talking things through first.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Michael said after he sighed, “but you humans are unbelievably difficult to fathom in relationships.”

Bobby smiled, albeit it was a little strained. “You know what they say: when the going gets tough, the tough get themselves into relationships they don’t understand.” He picked up the spatula to continue cooking the grilled cheese sandwiches he was apparently making, but not before waving it towards the door. “Go on, go after him.”

Michael frowned. “I have no idea where he went.”

“Oh come on. You’ve been together for nearly two months playing house. There’s gotta be a spot you know of his, a favorite hideout, a place he likes to think.”

And Michael knew. Without saying anything he popped out of the kitchen and found himself on the roof, sitting next to Adam, who was there with his knees up and his arms resting on them, sitting on the slanted down turn of the top of the house. He stiffened a little when he felt Michael’s presence but didn’t move or look at him, quietly accepting his company.

They sat there in matching poses side by side for a few minutes with Michael’s right arm barely brushing Adam’s left. Finally Michael turned to look at him, studying his pink lips, his perfectly sloped nose, the contours and texture and shade of his skin. Most of all he focused on Adam’s eyes, wanting to see the blue looking at him but Adam was staring straight ahead, trying so hard not to glance in Michael’s direction even though he could feel the angel staring at him. 

“How is the thinking coming along?” Michael asked, breaking the silence as gently as he could. 

Adam’s lips twitched. “As good as it could go, I guess.”

Nothing was said for another minute or so before Michael carefully reached out with his hand and brushed his fingers down the side of Adam’s face. Adam blinked but didn’t move away. 

“You have it so hard, Adam. Nobody is denying that.”

Adam closed his eyes, squeezing them tight. “Will it ever get easier?”

“The truth?”

Adam nodded with his eyes still closed. “Always.”

Michael could feel the pain building up in his eyes as he replied, “I don’t think so. You’re the son of John Winchester. That in and of itself makes things difficult.”

“And now I’ve got your brother’s grace, I’m a goddamn _arch_ angel, and I have to help kill one of the oldest living head-bitches-in-charge ever created. So what, does that mean I’m the Robin to your Batman?” 

Adam finally opened his eyes and looked at Michael, but it wasn’t the kind of gaze Michael wanted. The blue was distorted with the tears building up in Adam’s eyes, and when he blinked they started trickling down his cheeks. Michael stared, caught off guard. Adam never cried, and this was already twice in one day now that he’d done so. The last time he’d really, really cried – and Michael searched through his archived memory of Adam’s mind from when the human was his vessel – was when the ghouls were eating him alive. Adam was usually steely in terms of sadness, showing his emotion through physical or verbal aggression rather than simply tears. Michael wasn’t too practiced, dealing with crying humans, let alone his crying boyfriend. 

“You are no such thing,” Michael struggled to say, even though the reference completely flew over his head. “You are simply...marked.”

“Marked for death, seems like.”

“Adam, no—”

“I’ve already died three times, Mike, who’s to say I’m gonna survive this fight-to-be?”

Michael moved his hand to the top of Adam’s spine and tightened his fingers over his clothed back. “Don’t talk like that. Ever. Do you understand me?” He moved his hand up so his fingers grazed the skin on the back of his neck. “You will survive. You and I will kill the Leviathans together, and if anything happens, if we are somehow unable to fight together, then you will still be able to kill them on your own.”

Adam wiped at his eyes but managed to sound perfectly annoyed. “Whoa, whoa, what do you mean ‘unable to fight together’? What, are you planning a vacation in the middle of the showdown or something?”

“Not at all. I’m simply saying...” Michael had no idea how to word this gently, so he decided to just barrel ahead. “I’m saying that I would do anything to keep you safe in this war to come, Adam. Whatever dangers lie ahead, I’ll make sure you stay safe, even at my own risk.”

To Michael’s utter surprise, Adam laughed derisively. “Well we _both_ can’t fuckin’ die for each other.”

Michael frowned disapprovingly. “You’re not dying, period.”

“Well neither are you.”

“Adam, this is war. There are casualties. I will do everything I can to make sure you are not one of them. I mean that.”

Adam made a low, hostile noise in the back of his throat. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?”

“I hate that you’d willingly die for me. I hate that you think I’m worth it and I hate that I’m not sure I am.”

Michael was stunned. He’d never imagined Adam to have such a low opinion of himself. Sure, he’d had issues with his self image before (which Michael knew of when he shared Adam’s mind and body) but Michael had hoped Adam had grown out of it by this point, certainly not regressed to the point where he thought he deserved death. 

“Adam,” Michael breathed, “why would you think you’re not worth saving?” He resumed lightly running his fingers through Adam’s hair. “Have I not proven time and time again that I’d save you no matter the cost?”

Adam’s lower lip trembled but he quickly bit down on it. Michael tried to think of something else to say, some other piece of comfort to give Adam, but decided quickly that Bobby was right. No more lies, no more running around the words that needed to be said.

Michael ran his hand down the length of Adam’s arm before placing his hand over Adam’s paler, more slender one where it rested on the rooftop. “Adam, you’re just about the most stubborn thing I’ve ever met. It’s exhausting to be around you sometimes. You push my buttons, you challenge me, and you drive me crazy. You force me to change and evolve and venture outside of my comfort zone. So what if every once in a while we can't agree on anything and spend some time bickering? We still ultimately get along.”

Adam wiped his eyes with his free hand and snorted a bit. “Getting along is like, the total opposite of everything you just said. Why would you even wanna be around me if I’m everything you just said? Why would you think I was worth saving?”

“Because you’re my compass.”

“I’m your _what?_ ” If ever there were an award for strange pet names, that one would win hands down.

“My compass. Because I think I have traveled a long, long way away from the archangel I was when we first met, and it's all for the better. That's why you're my compass, Adam. You have always pointed me in the right direction, and I think that I want you to be showing me the way for the rest of however long we’ve got left together.”

Adam paused, slightly stunned, as he tried to wrap his mind around what Michael had just said. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he asked dumbly. Before Michael could respond, though, he started shaking his head. “No, wait. Look, Michael, don’t say...don’t say that just because you feel obligated to. If it’s not what you’re really feeling...I mean, if I were you, I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t love me either.”

“But you’re not me. _I’m_ me, and _I_ love you.”

Adam’s eyes sparkled and his heart nearly kick-started to a dangerously rapid pace. It was a word, a topic, a feeling that they’d both been dancing around for days, weeks even, a dreadful waltz in which neither of them had the upper hand but both could feel the nagging sting of its constant escape as it slipped through their fingers. But now here they were, finally out with it, or at least it was heading that way. 

“You love me?” Adam repeated incredulously.

“I love you.”

It was suddenly as simple as three words and the kiss that Michael planted on Adam’s lips, lingering there, as he tasted the softness, savoring the delicacy with which Adam kissed him back. Michael moved to cup the back of Adam’s neck, holding him gently in place as his other arm wrapped around Adam’s waist. Adam, whilst still locked onto Michael’s lips, moved to lie down on his back, bringing Michael with him as the archangel slipped in between his legs. Michael braced himself on his elbows, hips and chest pressed up against Adam’s as he continued to kiss and nip at the younger’s lips. 

Below, they could hear the front door open and shut as Sam’s voice called for them: “Adam! Michael! Where are you guys?”

Michael broke the kiss, groaning a little into the crook of Adam’s neck as his head fell forward. “Interrupted.”

Adam chuckled and kissed Michael’s temple. “Rain check.”

As Sam yelled their names again, Michael looked at Adam, smiled, and nodded once before the two of them scooted forward on the roof and pushed off, their wings flaring out simultaneously – silver and white, the stuff of stars – before they landed lightly on the lawn in front of Sam. The middle Winchester looked slightly stunned at seeing their wings for the first time in ages, but he quickly shook it off to deliver the more important news: “Dean’s missing.”

“Missing how?” Michael asked at the same time Adam said, “He’s probably just gone out for a beer after drinking everything in Bobby’s house.”

Sam shot Adam a look but he said stiffly, “I just got a phone call from Dick Roman.”

Adam snickered at the name. “Who?”

“The Leviathan boss,” Bobby explained calmly as he approached them from the front steps of the house. “Your apparent arch nemesis, Mr. Clark Kent.”

Adam rolled his eyes. Michael nudged him to behave. 

“So this...this Roman guy. He’s got Dean?” Adam clarified. 

“Yeah. But he said he’s not gonna kill him. Not yet,” Sam added, eyes full of worry. “He wants to make a trade.”

“A trade?” Michael quirked an eyebrow.

Sam nodded but didn’t look anyone in the eye, not even Bobby. 

Adam waited a beat. “Well for fuck’s sake, Sam, just tell us what he wants and we’ll figure it out.” 

“He wants Michael,” Sam blurted, the words sounding much more vicious and angry than he’d intended, but he himself was angry. This wasn’t fair, not by a long shot. What happened to their moment of peace, of calmness during the storm? Where did that moment go? “He wants to trade Dean for Michael. He wouldn’t give me an address yet until we agreed to trade, but...”

Adam didn’t understand. Or maybe he didn’t want to. “Michael? Why would he want Michael?”

“To pull apart the Dream Team, obviously,” Bobby answered. “To separate the only two beings alive that can kill his kind. He’s picking you off one at a time. You’re weaker apart.”

“So then he’ll come back for Adam?” Michael asked. He wasn’t so concerned with his own fate, so long as Adam got to live his life.

Bobby shrugged one shoulder, an apologetic look written all across his face. “It’s likely. He won’t wanna risk letting Adam run around after him.”

Michael nodded, his expression blank as his mind calculated all the possible scenarios this could play out. He felt like he was back in battle, in the midst of Heaven’s war and that he was once again leading an army he was sworn to protect. Same vein, different location, different circumstances. But now his protection amounted to something else. It wasn’t just his brothers and sisters he’d have to protect this time around. It was Bobby. It was the Winchesters. It was Adam. Always Adam. 

Finally, he spoke. “Well,” he said slowly, gauging everyone’s expressions. “I suppose there’s only one thing left to do.” He nodded to Sam. “Call Roman back and find out where he’s holding Dean. Tell him he can have the Sword of Heaven in exchange for your brother’s safe return.”

“But we’re not actually handing you over, right?” Adam interrupted, grabbing Michael by the shoulder and forcing him around so he could look Michael in the eyes. “You’re not just giving yourself in like that?”

Michael’s lips twitched. “It’s like you don’t know me at all, Adam,” he teased, stroking his jaw with the pad of his thumb. He turned to look over his shoulder at a waiting Bobby and Sam, the latter of which was poised with his cell phone raised. His voice made the ground tremble a bit as he spoke, channeling all the air and aplomb of a fully entitled archangel, weaker though he may be. “Dick Roman dies. Tonight.”


	10. If and When We Rise Again

“Dick Roman sure knows how to pick his hiding spots,” Sam commented as Michael let go of his arm, having finished zapping them both to the address Roman had texted to Sam. 

Michael nodded, eyes glued to the old townhouse in front of them. It wasn’t anything grandiose or particularly eye-catching, but with the bright afternoon sun overhead and the slowly melting icicles casting glints of light on the sidewalk, it was certainly a lot nicer than what Michael had expected creatures like the Leviathans to use. 

“We’re in New York City,” Michael observed as he glanced around. “Near New York University, to be exact.”

“How d’you figure?” Sam asked.

Michael pointed at the front door of the townhouse where a bronze placard announced: ‘Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House, 1836, New York University.’

“Well I’ll be damned” was all Sam could say. 

Michael shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, already feeling on edge. He’d never had to face these creatures before and all he knew about them was what Sam had divulged before they took off together. Apparently borax was a key weakness of theirs and they’d both loaded up their flasks with the stuff. Adam had suggested bringing Super Soakers with them but Sam had brushed the idea off as quaint, even though it made some sense. 

At the thought of Adam, Michael almost drowned in his thoughts of him – the anxiety, the worry, the regret of leaving Adam with Bobby – but Sam noticed and grabbed Michael by the elbow, pulling him from the waters. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”

Side by side Michael and Sam marched up the narrow steps to the front door of the townhouse. Sam tried to open the door but found it locked so he knocked twice, hard.

From within, there was a gruff voice: “Yes?”

“It’s Sam Winchester. I’m here with Michael,” Sam mumbled close to the door, not wanting to shout it to the streets for passersby to hear. 

It was only a brief moment later when they both heard the bolt slide open.

\---

Dick Roman was waiting for them in one of the reading rooms towards the back of the townhouse, a room bordered with dark wood and floor paneling that, despite the sunshine peeking through the half-closed windows, made the atmosphere ultimately unpleasant and cold. Two Leviathans that Sam had never seen before walked behind him and Michael, keeping an eye on them in case they tried to attack their leader. Not that their borax would do much actual damage anyway. It would hurt him, hinder him, but it wouldn’t kill him. That was what Michael and Adam were for. 

The man of the hour was already standing when they entered and Dean was nowhere in sight, and normally Sam would take a pause and absorb the sight of the Leviathan boss right in front of them, but Roman wasted no time in reading their expressions and assuring them, “Dean is just fine. He’s in the basement for safekeeping.” His grey eyes gleamed. “How are you, Sam?”

“Enough small talk,” Sam snapped. “Bring Dean up here. I want to see him.”

Roman smirked. “Sam, Sam, Sam. Don’t be rude. I’m just making conversation here.”

“We brought Michael. Now let Dean go.” Sam wasn’t having any of it; his face was set and his eyes were steel. 

“Ah. That’s true. You did bring the archangel.” Roman sat down at the large mahogany desk and rested his elbows on the top, steepling his fingers. “It’s nice to finally meet the creature destined to kill me. You know, you’re not as _big_ as I’d imagined.”

“You’re not as handsome as on TV,” Michael replied smoothly. 

That didn’t seem to faze the Leviathan boss, who merely chuckled halfheartedly and said, “An archangel with an attitude. You must be fun at parties.” He leaned forward against the desk a bit, eyes suddenly cast into darkness. “Here’s the thing boys. I’m willing to return Dean to you safe and sound, but I’m gonna need something from you in return. A fair trade.”

“We brought you Michael like you asked,” Sam repeated, though his tone sounded a little off-kilter. Unbalanced. What was Roman playing at? “That was the trade we agreed on.”

Michael frowned while he stood behind Sam. He didn’t like hearing himself talked about as though he weren’t there – or worse, as though he were some sort of object to be handed back and forth like a trading good. “Don’t be surprised, Sam,” Michael said, loud enough for Roman to hear. “You shouldn’t put your trust in these creatures. Nothing but lying roaches, all of them.”

Sam turned to give Michael one of the patented bitch face looks but Roman was already getting up and out of his seat to walk around to the front of the desk, his face unreadable but his posture calm and poised. 

“I never lied,” Roman corrected. “I merely...withheld certain information.”

“Such as?” Sam challenged. 

Roman smiled without warmth. “I do want to trade for Dean. But the life of your big brother...he’s worth a lot to you, isn’t he?”

Sam’s jaw tightened and Michael could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. If anything, this was the one thing he and Sam had in common: their fatal flaws were their brothers. 

Roman continued without waiting for a response. “He’s, for example, worth much more than a dying archangel.” Michael wished he could rip the smirk right off the man’s face but he held his ground. “So what, then? We have to even out the scale. I want the dying archangel...and the other one. The hybrid.” 

“The _hybrid_ has a name,” Michael said as calmly as he could manage. “And no, Adam is not part of this deal. You wanted me, and you’ve got me. Release Dean or face the consequences.”

“Adam is a part of this just as much as you are,” Roman argued. “In fact, even more so, now that I’d say he’s stronger than you are. You’re losing your grip, Michael. Adam is getting stronger. And why shouldn’t I have the right to the only two beings in the universe who can kill me?”

“You can’t have Adam,” Sam repeated for Michael. “He isn’t yours to kill.”

“What, and you think I’m gonna kill Michael here?” Roman pointed listlessly with a ringed forefinger. “Come on, Sam. I thought you were the smart one of the bunch. I didn’t ask for Michael just to kill him off the second I got him.”

Sam and Michael looked at each other questioningly, but neither one looked like he was about to tackle the subject for himself, so Michael asked, “So what do you want with us then, if not to kill us?”

“Correction: I don’t want to kill _you_. Not yet, anyway. Adam, on the other hand, well...” Roman shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Him I can’t wait to get my hands on.”

Michael’s nostrils flared and he took a step forward but Sam threw his arm out in front and barred the angel’s path. Michael could’ve easily pushed through the attempted blockade but decided against it. Attacking Roman now wouldn’t provide any more answers, which they desperately needed. Something didn’t quite fit right. 

“You’re keeping Michael alive? Why?” Sam asked.

Roman clicked his tongue sharply. “I need him. That’s all I’ll say.”

“Need me?” Michael was genuinely lost. “You want my help and then you’ll kill me?”

“Exactly.”

“And you think I’ll just...agree to go quietly?”

Roman frowned and shrugged one shoulder. “You can always refuse, but I think we all know what’ll happen to Dean if you do. And then, who knows? Maybe I won’t be satisfied with cutting the older Winchester’s throat. Maybe I’ll go after your Papa stand-in too.” He grinned at the stony look on Sam’s face; Sam tried to hide his discomfort but his eyes gave him away. Roman looked over at Michael. “Either way, you’ll help me get what I want when I ask you. You’ll say yes.” A grin. “Interesting, being on the other side of the coin, isn’t it, Michael? Is this how you got Adam’s permission to use his body? You threatened him with the life of a loved one? Or, really, it would be an _afterlife_...”

“Shut up,” Michael snapped. _If looks could kill_...but then there was the look Sam was giving him right now, that look of utter disbelief and shock. Michael averted his eyes, unable to take it, not wanting to absorb it.

Roman’s eyes flicked from Michael to Sam, assessing them both. “You never told them, did you?” he asked, very obviously amused with this turn of events. “Ah. How interesting. And I’m assuming Adam doesn’t remember?” 

“Adam doesn’t need to know. The matter is no longer relevant.”

“Oh, sure. Threatening to send his mother spiraling into Hell if he refused to let you wear him like a pretty party dress? Yeah, you’re right, that kind of info isn’t important.” Roman’s eyes never stopped shining. “You keep walking with your proud little head up like that Michael, and one day, the sky might cut it off.”

“Okay, enough,” Sam demanded, pushing back on Michael as he tried once again to go after Roman and his smug little face. As much as Sam wanted to tear into Roman too, he knew they wouldn’t get very far, especially not with the two Leviathan guards inching their way forward. “Look, you said Michael for Dean. Adam’s not involved in any of this.”

Roman tilted his head to the side like a curious dog. “He is if he thinks he can try sneaking past me and rescuing our resident damsel in distress.”

Michael tried to control his facial expression, wiping it as blank as possible as he said, “Adam is doing no such thing.”

“Really now?” Roman snapped his fingers and motioned to the Leviathan on Michael’s right. “Then I hope you won’t mind if I send Doug over here to check on Dean—”

Doug, unfortunately, never got the chance to check on Dean, as Michael wasted no time in turning on his heel and slamming his open palm against Doug’s chest, sending the Leviathan sailing backwards and crashing through the wooden paneled wall. Sam took the cue and turned, borax-coated hunting knife in hand, and stabbed the other Leviathan in the chest. He watched as what Bobby had predicted earlier came true: because of the painted borax on the knife, the wound refused to close up. Black ooze spilled from the gash in the Leviathan’s chest as it reared its head skyward and wailed, mouth gaping wide to show the forked tongue and rows of jagged teeth. Sam twisted and ripped the knife from its chest to do maximum damage and the Leviathan collapsed, bleeding on the floor. 

All of this took place in about five to seven seconds, but Roman barely flinched. Instead he watched, amused, at the scene unfolding, and didn’t even blink when Sam advanced on him with the borax knife. 

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Sammy, but that knife won’t work on me. I’m a wee bit tougher to kill. Hence why you need the power of two archangels to do it.”

“I don’t care,” Sam snarled, grip tightening on the knife. “I’ll just keep stabbing until you let Dean go. You can still feel the pain of it, right?” 

Roman chuckled. “Always with the temper, eh, Sam?”

“Let him go!” Sam repeated louder.

A noise behind Roman made the Leviathan turn and look towards the door leading to the back of the townhouse. Sam couldn’t help but let his eyes follow, and lo and behold...

“Dean!” Sam shouted. He made to run to his brother but remembered who he was dealing with and so he remained there, knife inching its way closer to Roman’s throat. 

“Sammy.” Dean’s face was death incarnate, with the blood already coagulating and his expression a red mask of pain. He walked with a limp, but damnit, he was walking and that was at least a good sign. “Sammy. It’s okay. I got out.”

Roman didn’t look at all surprised to see Dean making his way slowly into the room. “Dean. So nice of you to join us. I see you had a nice time with my friend Hannah downstairs?”

“You mean the dead bitch? Oh yeah, fun times.” And at least Dean’s attitude was still intact, if nothing else. 

Roman quirked an eyebrow but he still didn’t seem all that bothered by this news. “And how exactly did Hannah die?”

“Me.” 

Adam slammed into Roman from the side, silver wings flared out so they knocked Sam flat onto his ass. Together, Leviathan and newborn archangel flew into the window behind the desk and crashed through the glass in a wonderful shatter of glinting light and sharp bursts of pain. They landed in the grassy courtyard, Roman on his back and Adam skidding onto his stomach before using his wings to kick the air up around him and twirl him to his feet. 

“Get up,” Adam commanded Roman as he heard Michael land gently behind him, his own white wings out as well. 

Roman stood, casually brushing dirt and broken glass off his tailored suit. “Why Adam, you’re taking charge for a change? Kinky.”

“Shut up,” he growled, reaching for his own borax knife that he’d sheathed to his waist, covered in black blood from Hannah.

Roman saw where his hand was traveling and he licked his lips. “Ah. I’d just finished explaining to your brother: that won’t be enough to kill me.” He shrugged with a feigned look of sorrow. “Sorry, kiddo.”

“You’re bluffing,” Adam said.

“Am I?” Roman opened his arms wide. “Go for it if you think it’ll work. But just because _you’re_ the special one holding the knife doesn’t mean it’ll fail any worse than it would if Sam tried.”

Adam hesitated, knife gripped tight in his hand. 

“Adam,” Michael breathed behind him. “Don’t—”

He didn’t listen, instead choosing that moment to charge at Roman, blackened knife at the ready. 

Roman dodged much quicker than Adam had anticipated and so he missed, swinging a bit too wide and only catching the collar of Roman’s shirt. Fabric tore with a quiet ripping sound and Roman reached around to catch Adam’s wrist, throwing him off balance and pulling him closer to Roman than was comfortable. A glint of silver caught Adam’s eye and he looked down at the angel blade in Roman’s free fist.

Roman sliced at Adam’s stomach but he was able to jerk away quickly; his shirt tore but his skin remained untouched. Adam breathed in deep before blowing air out through his mouth, a helpful new trick he’d learned. The force separated him from Roman, ripping his wrist free, and sent the Leviathan crashing into the far wall. To Adam’s dismay, Roman held tight to the angel blade and didn’t stay down for long. He was on his feet as Michael appeared at Adam’s side. 

“We can’t beat him,” Adam admitted under his breath as Roman stared them down. “He’s right. The borax knife...it was a good idea on Bobby’s part but it won’t be strong enough to kill him...”

Roman leapt across the space separating him and Adam. Knife met blade and together, angel and Leviathan danced around the courtyard, Michael armed with a borax-coated knife of his own. 

Though there were two of them and only one of Roman, he was a force to be reckoned with. His reflexes were quick, his strength unmatched, his thirst for blood untamable. His eyes were always searching for a weak spot and he usually found them: an exposed piece of flesh here, an unprotected spot there. He hit and sliced and stabbed at anything he could reach, cold and calculating, while Adam barely had time to deflect most of the blows. It was then that Roman concentrated all his efforts on cutting Adam down, as he was obviously the weaker of the two, and though Michael tried to divert Roman’s attention to him, Roman would only spare him a passing blow or two before redirecting back to Adam. Red blood mixed with black ichor as the three creatures grappled and sliced at each other wildly, not doing enough damage to kill but slowly cutting each other down to the core. 

It so happened that when Adam finally had Roman pinned to a wall by the shoulders, finally thought he’d at least trapped the son of a bitch, that Roman pulled his own trick. He whirled and rammed Adam against the wall, switching positions as his jaw unhinged and his mouth opened wide to reveal the infamous tongue and rows of shark-like teeth. Roman screeched something terrible to the sky and Adam had only a moment to wince, ears ringing, before Roman bent forward and snapped down on Adam’s shoulder, teeth piercing and breaking the skin. Adam cried out in pain and sank to his knees; Roman had bitten deep, and silver-white grace mixed with the blood that began to stain his shirt.

“ _Adam!_ ” Michael roared, surging forward at lightning speed, wings outstretched and eyes full of fire. 

Roman slid a second angel blade out of his sleeve and turned, quicker than Michael could move, and rammed the blade through Michael’s chest up to the hilt. White hot grace began to bleed out and burn a light so bright that, even though Adam tried to look and wanted to look and needed to look, he had to turn his face away. In the midst of the blinding chaos, Roman grinned wide and fled across the courtyard to a door that led to the building opposite the house they’d come from, and Adam didn’t have the energy to run after him. All he could do was grab Michael as he collapsed, on the brink of consciousness, with the blade still embedded in his chest. 

Adam sank back onto his haunches as he cradled Michael’s head against his own bloodied chest. His face felt wet, though he didn’t know if that was because of the blood or possibly the tears he hadn’t noticed till now that he’d begun to shed. 

“Michael,” Adam pleaded hoarsely, “no, please...just hang on...Michael...” He held Michael’s shoulder with one hand while he used the other to desperately press down on the area around the wound to staunch the flow. Michael winced and so Adam stopped, merely resting his hand on the broken angel’s chest. 

Michael breathed raggedly, forcing the words from his lungs: “Take...the blade...”

“Wh-What?” Adam didn’t think he’d heard correctly.

“The blade...you’ll need it...”

Adam shook his head. “No, I can’t. The blood flow...it’ll get worse—”

“ _Take it._ ”

Adam grit his teeth – his bottom lip was trembling – and grabbed the hilt of the angel blade. He hesitated and for a moment his eyes caught Michael’s. Blue met green, and green begged for compliance. Adam shut his eyes and pulled the blade out as fast as he could, earning a sharp cry of pain from Michael as he did so.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Adam gasped in one breath, dropping the blade off to the side and clutching Michael closer to his body with both arms around him. “You told me to so I—”

“Adam. Listen to me,” Michael struggled to say through his tiny gasps of pain. “That blade...will kill Roman.”

Again, Adam thought he heard wrong. “It’s an angel blade,” he said dumbly.

“I...I gave up my grace...”

Adam’s blood chilled. “You _what?_ ”

“Let me finish. My grace...most of it...it’s embedded in that blade. It’s empowering it. If you...if you can get Roman with it...you can kill him.” Michael winced again but continued. “It looks as though...you’ll have to do it without me.”

Adam looked down at the angel blade next to him and sure enough, the blade burned a deadly white color instead of its usual shining silver. He reached out tentatively with one hand to touch it and was surprised to see that he could do so without burning himself.

Michael nodded approvingly, weakening. “You can still do it...on your own.”

“I don’t want to do it alone.” The tears returned, the knot in his throat, the ache in his chest. “You can’t leave me, you can’t...” He wracked his brain for a solution. “I-I can heal you. Maybe I can heal you and you’ll be okay and...” He trailed off as Michael started shaking his head. “No? What d’you mean no? I have to give it a try—”

“You can’t save me fr-from this, Adam,” Michael breathed. “I’m sorry.” He smiled gently, eyes locking on Adam’s as he tried to keep them open. “Do I at least...get a goodbye kiss?”

Adam laughed once through his tears, an uncontrollable reaction, as he looked down at Michael – now near human, apparently, due to his giving the blade most of his remaining grace – and saw, for what seemed like the first time, that here was a person who well and truly loved Adam. And Adam, having realized it too late, was losing him. God was wicked.

Adam nodded once before he leaned down and pressed his lips to Michael’s, eyes shut as Michael leaned up to meet him halfway. 

Even with his eyes shut, Adam could see through his lids the blinding white light as the rest of Michael’s grace burned away. There was a stinging sensation against his cheek and arms and chest, sharp and painful, and Adam pulled his lips away with a gasp. 

Michael was limp in his arms. His wings had scorched their marks accordingly, leaving Adam with the outlines of black scars along the front of his body. 

Sam and Dean found Adam minutes later with Michael’s body in his arms and the taste of dead stars in his mouth.

\---

“...not your fault, Bobby, they worked great, they really did...” 

“Didn’t do Michael a damn bit of good, though. And I’m sure the thought doesn’t comfort Adam much in the night.”

“Bobby—”

“How is he, Sam?”

“He’s...managing.”

“I don’t like ‘managing’. Sounds too much like ‘suffering’.”

“It’s only been a day.”

Adam could hear them through the thin walls of the fairly bare hotel room they’d rented in Manhattan. Dean was with them too but keeping silent, and honestly Adam was tired of listening to them talk about how he was ‘coping’ and ‘healing’ and ‘dealing with it,’ because he wasn’t. Lying in bed wasn’t helping him deal with it. If anything, the only thing that would help would be putting Michael’s blade right through Roman’s heart and finger painting with his blood. 

He couldn’t sleep for the life of him. Every time he shut his eyes he saw either Michael with his dying grace or gruesome images from Hell: Toretan, the Hellspawn, Lucifer attacking him. It was only now he realized he hadn’t had to deal with the nightmares before, not because of Gabriel’s grace in his body, but because Michael had been the one chasing them away. And now that he wasn’t here...

Adam rolled over onto his back, staring up at the white cracked ceiling. His eyes were heavy and tired from crying, either openly or silently, but his face was a tight mask of anger. He didn’t want to lie in this bed mourning. He wanted to get out there and kill the son of a bitch who’d done all this. He wanted to tear himself off the bed and rip everything apart around him.

The door to his puny bedroom opened and Adam quickly shut his eyes, pretending to be sleeping as he’d done so many times beforehand. He didn’t know who’d walked in but whoever it was sat on the side of Adam’s bed with a creak and a sigh.

A pause. “There’s nothing worse.” It was Dean.

Adam tried not to react in surprise. He hadn’t expected Dean of all people to check in on him. It had been mostly Sam the past few hours, and Bobby on occasion. Never Dean. He thought the eldest Winchester was still angry with him for earlier.

Dean continued. “Nothing worse than losing someone you love. I mean, we’d know, right? All we do is lose people.” There was another sigh. “And you, Adam...you’re like the poster boy for loss, along with me and Sam. Your mom, your future, your...Michael. Just like that.” He gently snapped his fingers for emphasis. “Gone. And I know how you feel. I do. You want revenge. You wanna rip Roman’s head off his goddamned neck and put it in a stick and parade it around town. I understand that. Hell, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Adam kept his lips from twitching into a smile, and Dean went on without seeing him. “But you shouldn’t have to do it alone. You’ve been alone for too long, man. You have us now. And I know,” Dean added quickly, “that you’re not too gung-ho about us, but...” He trailed off and didn’t try to pick up where he’d left off. “I understand if you can’t forgive us. But we wanna help you. It’s the least we can do.”

Adam tried once again to keep his face from reacting to Dean’s words, even though he wanted nothing more than to sit up and stare at him. It wasn’t a complete apology, not by far, but it was the closest to bona fide sorrow that Adam had ever heard in regards to how he’d been treated time after time. He knew Dean wasn’t one to make full-fledged apologies, so this was a huge step forward for him. 

The bed creaked as Dean shifted his sitting position. “I didn’t realize how much Michael meant to you. I thought...I thought maybe it was just leftover vessel attachment or something. But...you really liked him, didn’t you?” Adam wanted to say it was more than that, but didn’t. He couldn’t see it, but Dean nodded to himself absentmindedly. “We’ll get Roman. Michael won’t have died in vain. That I can promise you.”

“Dean.” Adam opened his eyes and shifted himself up to sit on his elbows, breaking his code of silence. Dean didn’t look all that surprised that he was awake, and for a moment the two of them stared at each other, a wall of uncertainty separating them until Adam finally tore it down: “I’m tired of being angry.”

Dean suppressed the tiniest of grins. “You have every right to be.”

“I know, but...nowadays, I’m just pissed at everything. At John for treating me like a cast-off. At Roman for ruining what looked like a good future for me. At Michael for leaving me.” Adam pushed himself further up on the bed to lean against the wooden headboard, leaning his head against the wall with a dull thunk. “I can’t keep being pissed with you and Sam too. You guys and Bobby...you’re all I’ve got left now.” 

He could feel the tears – angry and unwelcome – building up in his eyes again, but when he lifted a hand to rub at them, his arm stung sharply. Adam winced and looked to see the faint white scars of Michael’s wings threading their way up his arm, coated in what looked like a clear salve. 

“Sam tried patching you up,” Dean explained in answer to the confused look on Adam’s face. “But the scars...they won’t go away.”

“I don’t want them to.” _Along with you guys, they’re all I’ve got left, too._

Dean ran a hand across the back of his neck and sighed, replaying Adam’s words in his head, thinking about his own life, his own anger towards the kid, though he was hardly a ‘kid’ now. And for once, Dean could see where he and Adam were alike: they had nobody left but their family. Everyone else was gone. Their dad. Mary and Kate. Castiel and Michael. Staying angry, losing each other...what good would that do except further solidify their loneliness in the world? 

Eventually, Dean chuckled dryly. “If it’s any consolation, you’re all Sam and I have left, too.”

The corners of Adam’s lips quirked up. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

“Twerp.”

“Asshole.”

They smiled halfheartedly at each other, but it was enough.

\---

Adam emerged from the confines of his darkened bedroom later that day, shuffling out into the brightly lit living room as he shielded his eyes and drank in the familiar sight of Sam and Bobby sitting around a table with papers and books piled up, bouncing ideas off of each other. They both looked up at Adam as he entered and, suddenly feeling self-conscious because of his bare upper body and the obvious scars raked across his skin, ducked into the tiny kitchen where Dean was fetching a beer from the fridge. 

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asked gently as Adam filled up a glass with cold water and chugged the whole thing as fast as he could. 

Adam slid the glass across the kitchen counter, empty, and shambled back into the living room to collapse on the unoccupied couch, taking care to avoid lying down on his injured arm. “Like it matters. Have you guys found anything out?”

Sam and Bobby glanced at each other concernedly but Adam didn’t notice. Bobby cleared his throat and shuffled through some of the papers on the table. “We think we’ve figured out why Roman wanted Michael alive.”

Adam frowned and tilted his neck up to look at them. “Really?”

Bobby nodded without looking up from the papers. “Roman wanted Lucifer,” he began to explain.

“Lucifer?” To Adam, that seemed to come out of left field; he hadn’t heard Lucifer’s name spoken in a couple of months. He seemed so far away and almost irrelevant considering what was happening now. 

Bobby sighed and rubbed his beard with his open palm. “It’s a bit of an...odd story.”

Adam opened his arms wide. “I’m all ears.”

“Lilith was the first demon that Lucifer created,” Sam jumped in eagerly. “He...twisted and warped her to an unrecognizable point, and she eventually turned. But before that, she was human. She was Adam’s first wife before Eve, but she was kicked out of the Garden of Eden when she challenged God’s command that she bow before her husband.”

“After she left Eden,” Bobby continued, “she went to the city of Sheba where she gained control over the city. She was kind of a...”

“A bitch?” Adam supplied after a pause.

Bobby snorted. “A bitch,” he agreed. “But the Leviathans there liked her. She was everything they were: ruthless, power-hungry, arrogant...they took a liking to her and she didn’t mind. I expect she liked having something that followed her every word, even if they weren’t human. The Leviathans eventually adopted Lilith as their true mother.”

“Gross,” Adam commented. Sam chuckled in agreement and even Dean cracked a smile from the kitchen doorway. “But what’s that got to do with Michael?”

“When Lucifer turned Lilith into a demon, you can imagine the Leviathans weren’t too happy about the queen mother being taken from them. They were looking for revenge before they were cast into Purgatory, and they’ve been keen on it ever since.”

“Explains why they hate demons so much,” Sam commented. Bobby nodded.

“Wait,” Dean said, and it was then that Adam realized he was hearing this for the first time too. “So the Leviathans jumped Purgatory just to gank Lucifer for turning Lilith into a demon? So why don’t we let ‘em? It’s only the friggin’ Devil, after all.”

“You don’t understand, Dean,” Bobby said with a shake of the head. “If the Leviathans manage to kill Lucifer, they won’t stop there. They’ll move on. Angels. Humans. They’re a vicious, hungry breed and they see no end in sight to their little crusade.”

Dean sighed but Adam could see the surrender in his eyes. “So why Michael?”

“Roman needed to know how to open the Cage, and where it is,” Sam explained. “And he needed a way to coax Lucifer to come to him. Holding Michael captive would’ve accomplished all the above.”

“Michael never would’ve told Roman how to open the Cage,” Adam said adamantly. When everyone looked at him, he added, “He loves Lucifer no matter what. He’d never do that, put him on a silver platter for the Leviathans.”

Dean nodded slowly. ‘Nobody dicks around with Michael but me.’ That was what Lucifer had said a year or so ago, after Castiel had molotoved the oldest archangel. Why shouldn’t it work the other way, with Michael protecting Lucifer from harm? Only family could mess with other family. That was the unwritten rule of life.

Bobby paused. “Michael’s death bought us some time. Roman’s gonna be lost for a bit now that his bargaining chip is dead, so he’ll need to reorganize and find a new way to find the Cage and break in. While he’s doing that, we can attack again.”

“Attack _again_?” Adam repeated incredulously. He swung his legs over the side of the couch and sat up at attention. “Are you crazy? Look at what happened the last time we tried to fight them.”

“That was partly a rescue mission gone screwy, I’ll admit,” Bobby said, “but we need to try again while they’re still disorganized.”

“Disorganized? They looked pretty fine to me,” Adam snapped. “At least, Roman did, while he was busy cutting me up like a Christmas ham.”

“Adam,” Sam said gently, “I know this is hard for you, but—”

“Don’t tell me that I need to ‘give’ you guys a little more,” Adam hissed. He finally stood up, shoving himself off of the couch violently. “Don’t you dare.”

“Look at it this way,” Dean said from behind him, “what else have you got to lose?”

Adam tightened his jaw and turned to stare him down, but before he could come up with a halfway decent reply, there was a knock at the door. The air grew heavy in the room as everybody froze; they’d of course paid for the room with a fake credit card and name, and since they’d tried so hard to keep under the radar, nobody should really know who was staying in the room. Who could possibly be knocking?

Dean reached over from his spot and hesitated, hand on the doorknob, before swinging it open, his eyes widening in shock at whoever was in the hallway. “Balthazar?”

“With another familiar face.” The English drawl was recognizable, even though Adam couldn’t see the angel from his position in front of the couch. “May we come in?”

Adam heard movement from the hall and watched as Dean’s expression morphed from surprise to downright disbelief. His mouth fell open slightly and he looked as though he was trying to speak but nothing was coming out of his mouth. 

From the hall, Balthazar added, “I need to set him down, Dean. In case you can’t tell, he’s not been so well lately.”

“Who?” Sam asked, craning his neck from his seat, but he too fell into silent shock as Balthazar shuffled into the room with a disheveled and very battered-looking Castiel tucked under his arm, pinned to Balthazar’s side so he could stand.

“Cas?” Dean asked hoarsely.

Castiel barely looked up at Dean, either from lack of energy or shame, Adam couldn’t tell. His clothes – black dress pants and white button-up only – were wrinkled and covered in mud stains and specks of blood everywhere, and his skin was bruised and calloused with dark circles under his eyes. 

When Balthazar successfully led Castiel into the room, the shattered angel (if he even was one anymore) strained to raise his head and look at Adam, who froze when those familiar blue eyes caught his own.

“Cas,” Adam breathed, stepping towards him. “What happened to you?”

Castiel struggled to speak, leaning away from Balthazar as he tried to reach out to Adam with a withered hand. “Adam...” his voice was rough with disuse, lips chapped, but still he spoke. “I tried...”

He didn’t get much further than that though. Unbalanced, without an arm around Balthazar’s waist, Castiel pitched forward. Adam quickly stepped forward to stop his fall, but Dean was already there, catching him before he hit the ground and holding him tightly as though he was trying to make sure Castiel didn’t fall apart.

\---

“He found me,” Balthazar said simply, swirling the tap water around in the wine glass he’d nicked from the kitchen. “I wasn’t looking for him, particularly. I’d thought he was long gone after his stint with the Leviathans.” He took a sip, made a face, and carefully set the glass down on the creaky table. “He just turned up a few days ago, near out of his mind, and wouldn’t stop talking about Adam and getting to Adam and helping Adam and what the bloody hell is Adam up to that’s got Cas’s panties in such a twist?” 

He, Adam, Sam, and Bobby were sitting around the dinky little table in the living room, with all the books and papers shoved to one side and piled so high that Adam almost couldn’t see the top of Bobby’s head across from him. Dean was in the bedroom taking care of Castiel, who’d passed out shortly after collapsing. Sam had suggested Adam try to wake him, but Dean had glared so fiercely at everybody that they just let him half drag, half carry Castiel into the bedroom. 

The three of them started filling Balthazar in on what happened since Castiel first opened the door to Purgatory, because presumably he wasn’t in contact with any of them since then, but Balthazar stopped them with a poised hand.

“I know all about the Leviathans,” he said. “And about that puppet master Dick Roman. How could I not? Bastards are everywhere.”

“And you’ve been hiding out this whole time?” Sam asked, a hint of distaste in his voice.

Balthazar scoffed. “You know as well as I do that anything I try will be utterly useless. What would be the point in attacking? We can’t kill them.”

“No,” Bobby agreed, “but Adam can.”

Balthazar regarded the youngest with a curious look on his face, studying him closely. He even leaned closer to Adam, forcing him to arch away slightly, uncomfortable with the closeness. 

Finally, Balthazar retreated into his seat. “Ah yes. You’re referring to the Talmud translation about Gabriel, aren’t you? Which makes you the Gabriel of the legend. How nice.”

“We’ve got manmade weapons to kill the drones,” Bobby said, using their agreed-upon codename to refer to the less important Leviathans. “Knives coated in borax. But it’ll have to be Adam with his own Michael sword who kills Dick Roman once and for all.”

“Michael sword? What’re you going to do, grab Dean by the ankles and start swinging him ‘round in circles?”

“What? No,” Adam snorted. He shook his head slowly, eyes glued to the tabletop. “I’ve got an angel blade fused with Michael’s grace. It’ll kill Roman so long as I’m the one who wields it.”

Balthazar’s eyes gleamed. “So Gabriel _and_ Michael will kill him together, albeit in an improvised way. I see where you’re going with this.”

“Think it’ll work?” Sam asked.

“Oh, it has to. It’s our only option, isn’t it? There’s no Plan B.” Balthazar folded his hands together and leaned his elbows on the table. 

“ _Our_ only option?” Bobby repeated.

Balthazar smirked. “You didn’t think I’d just sit this one out, did you? It’s the big prize fight for the throne and I’ll not see the crown – or the world – fall into the wrong hands.”

“Why do you care all of a sudden? Why now?” Sam asked.

Balthazar smiled a little sadly. “Obvious, isn’t it? It’s become personal.” His eyes flicked over to the bedroom where Castiel was no doubt still unconscious. “They’ll not get away with what they did to Cas, I can promise you that. And _you_ ,” Balthazar added, nudging Adam with his elbow, “need to promise me to rip the heart from Roman’s chest, if he’s even got one.”

Adam smiled without cheer. “You think I can do it?”

“Can’t I? You’re the little vessel that could.”

Even Bobby chuckled at that, running a finger over his beard before asking, “Hey, Bal, why did Cas struggle so much to get here?” He jabbed his finger down into the tabletop for emphasis. 

Balthazar shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him that once he wakes. He couldn’t say much when he got to me. Still very weak.” A cloud hovered over his face. “The Leviathans just...got rid of him. Shed him when they decided they needed a stronger body to inhabit. Or, more precisely, _more_ bodies. He’s been wandering around since, unable to use any of his powers. They’ve...pretty much drained him of everything. That’s why he had to come find me. He needed my help reaching you lot.”

“Is he human?” Adam asked, blanching.

Balthazar shook his head quickly. “No, no, not quite. He’s still got some juice left in him, but I’m not sure how long it’ll last him. In any case, he’s in no position to try anything hasty. You saw him. He can’t even walk on his own.”

Adam sighed, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the table. He wasn’t sure what any of this meant, or what Castiel could possibly need of Adam. They still hadn’t spent much quality time together, so he doubted there would be some kind of big friendly bonding period together.

“Whatever it is,” Sam said, voicing Adam’s own thoughts, “it’s gotta be important, otherwise Cas wouldn’t have fought so hard to find him.”

The bedroom door opened and everybody turned to look as Dean slumped out, shoulders tensed and eyes downcast. 

“Dean?” Sam asked gently. “How is he?”

Dean paused to catch Sam’s eye. “He’s awake,” he said with a nod. “He’s barely rested, but...” He trailed off as he looked over at Adam. “He wants to talk to you. Alone.”

\---

The window shades were pulled to the side, which was a huge contrast to the darkened room Adam had kept himself in while he was recovering. The afternoon sun cast rays over Castiel’s tired form in the bed, sheets tucked up to his chest as he lay there surveying Adam when he walked in and quietly shut the door behind him. 

“I’m sorry to hear about Michael,” Castiel said the instant the door was firmly closed. His voice sounded a bit better; Adam suspected Dean had been taking care of him to the extreme. “Dean told me everything that’s happened so far and—”

“It’s okay. I’m...coping,” Adam lied, waving his hand. He moved to sit at the foot of the bed. “How’re you feeling, Cas?”

Castiel grimaced as he sat further up on his pillows. “Never mind about me. I need to talk to you. It’s important. I can rest more after.”

Adam frowned. “Man, I wanna know if you’re gonna be okay first.”

“No. Adam. You need this.” Castiel held out his hand, palm turned to the ceiling. 

Adam stared, expecting something to appear out of thin air, or maybe for his hand to start glowing or changing color, but nothing happened. He shrugged. “Need what? Your hand in marriage?”

He was glad to see the trace of a smile cross Castiel’s lips. “Not exactly. Though you’ll need something else very personal of mine: my grace.”

Adam turned white and shimmied away from the angel’s outstretched hand. “I’m not taking your grace,” Adam said firmly. “You need it. It’s practically the only thing holding you together, Cas.”

“I can manage just fine without it. I’ll be human, and I’ll probably need hospitalized care, but I’ll be able to survive just long enough for you to give it back.”

“Give it back? What do you expect me to _do_ with it?”

“Kill Roman.”

Adam sighed at length. “Seems like that’s the only thing anybody expects of me these days.”

“Adam,” Castiel said gently after a pause, “despite what I’ve just said, you do know you have a choice in this, right? You don’t _have_ to kill Roman, or fight. You can just walk away.”

Adam was already shaking his head before Castiel even finished his sentence. “No. I’ve gotta do this. I’ve...I’ve come too far now, Cas.” He tried to hide the regret in his voice but he was pretty sure Castiel was already very aware of how much he’d rather not have to go through with this. “Everything I’ve done with my life up until this point...it’s been near meaningless. What have I contributed? Nothing. I haven’t done anything worth remembering.”

“Adam—”

“And I mean, I’m okay with that. Or at least, I was, until Sam and Dean came along and opened my eyes to what was out there.” Adam swallowed hard. “How can I just sit back and pretend none of this is happening? That the world isn’t about to fall off the edge into oblivion? I might as well do my part. Lend a hand. _Try_.” 

Castiel was staring at him with a mixture of admiration and surprise. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms loosely around his bent knees, and said, “You’ve changed much since I last saw you. You used to want nothing more than to run away from all of this.”

Adam stared at the carpet, a smile ghosting across his face. “Michael’s not the only one with a compass.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” Adam caught Castiel’s eyes, blue greeting blue. “I’m doing this, Cas. I can’t promise that I’ll succeed, but I’ll at least try my hardest.”

Castiel tried to smile encouragingly but it came out as a wince as his side stung painfully. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“What I’ve done. If I hadn’t been so...so arrogant and proud...if I hadn’t opened Purgatory—”

“You were doing what you thought was right,” Adam said, repeating the same thing he’d told Michael so long ago.

Castiel shook his head despairingly. “I thought I was, but Michael was right. There was no need to continue the search for Purgatory if Michael was back, if Michael could’ve taken on Raphael and stopped him.”

“Michael was fading,” Adam reminded him gently. “He was getting weaker and weaker every day. Raphael would’ve killed him if they’d fought each other.”

“And now Michael is dead anyway,” Castiel groaned, his head falling forward into his hands. “And the Leviathans are free.”

“Cas. Hey.” Adam reached over and lightly shook his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. Whatever else you wanna do, don’t blame yourself for this.”

“If I hadn’t—”

“You came _back_ to us, Cas,” Adam said firmly. “And that’s what matters. You’re here to help us.”

Castiel picked his head up and stared at Adam, long and hard, as though trying to assess whether or not he was serious about his gratitude that Castiel was here again. 

Adam stared right back at him unflinchingly. “You said you want me to take your grace,” he repeated. “Will it make me stronger?”

“Every little bit helps, even if it’s my own flawed grace.” Castiel swung his legs over the side of the bed to sit side-by-side with Adam. “But I have to warn you, Adam: it’s tainted. The Leviathans, when they were in me, tried their hardest to break me from the inside out, starting with my grace. It’s torn and ripped, and quite small, but it’s still usable.”

“Will this even be possible? Fitting your grace alongside Gabriel’s? I thought graces couldn’t mix.”

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Two strong graces can’t mix, it’s true. But a strong and a weak one...Gabriel’s grace should absorb mine because it is tainted. His grace will take to mine, will fix it and heal it, and in turn it’ll strengthen you.”

“And then when I return it to you, you’ll be good as new, too,” Adam finished, seeing where Castiel was leading with this. He could see it now, the grand scheme laid out before him, leading him closer to Roman. 

Castiel warned him, “Don’t jump ahead of yourself. You need to be careful with my grace, Adam. Don’t let the process reverse. Don’t let _it_ infect _you_.”

“Infect me with what?”

But Castiel didn’t reply. He held his hand out in front of him, again with his palm turned upwards, and glanced pointedly at Adam. “If you want it,” Castiel said, “you can take it.”

Adam stared, hesitated, thought, and took his hand.


	11. The Sound of Silence

The good thing about having Castiel’s grace tainted with Leviathan ichor was that the fallen angel still had a faint, albeit still-there connection with the Leviathans. Adam could feel it stirring behind his ribcage, foreign and hostile, unfriendly and cold. He wanted to rip it from his body almost on contact, but he told himself this was a good thing because somehow, on some other plane of existence, the infected grace knew where Roman and the others were hiding. It wa much easier to track them down this way.

And so once Adam told the others that he could sense the Leviathans hiding out near Times Square, they’d already begun to pack weapons and mentally prepare themselves. Castiel without his grace regressed to a trembling mass that Dean had to take care of while the rest of the men and angels sheathed borax knives and loaded guns (Bobby had taken his idea one step further and for the past few hours, he and Sam had been painting borax over whatever bullets they could find). It was an improvised weapon and they had no idea what would happen, but it was better than rushing in empty handed. 

After a quick but heated argument between Dean and Balthazar, where Bal insisted that Castiel be taken to a mortal hospital to be cared for during their absence, Dean finally let the angel pop his friend out of the hotel room before returning with a nod and a smile.

“The nurse was quite accommodating,” Balthazar insisted as they all slung backpacks over their shoulders (courtesy of Sam running to a cheap street vendor down the block). “Said Cas would get his own private room and personal care.”

“And how’d you manage that?” Bobby asked, but Balthazar only winked. 

When Adam and Balthazar zapped everybody to Times Square, he’d been expecting the usual hustle and bustle of such a popular locale on a Friday night, not the empty but still-lit city streets that greeted them when the five of them appeared out of thin air next to a major subway stop. There wasn’t a single soul to be seen or heard. The only moving objects were the LED advertisements and the occasional Broadway playbill that floated by on the wind’s back. Music blared from nearby speakers on the street; Adam recognized the tune as Deadmau5’s “Sophie Needs A Ladder” before Sam nudged him with an elbow and startled him.

“Where is everybody?” his older brother murmured. 

Adam tried to think of a witty response but found he couldn’t. He’d never been to Times Square before, but from what he knew about New York City, it was that there were always people crawling the streets at all hours of the night. So where were they? 

“One of the perks of looking like a powerful politician?” a familiar, cold voice echoed around them, “is that you can do just about anything. For example, closing down Times Square for a ‘private meeting.’ You humans are so gullible when it comes to wealthy men in suits.”

“Dick,” Dean hissed, and Adam couldn’t tell if Dean was referring to him by name or by insult. 

The small group moved forward towards the main intersection, keeping light on their feet. Adam tried to reach for Castiel’s grace to see if maybe he’d be able to get an exact location on Roman and the others (they were nowhere in sight) but when he tried, he felt the grace bite back at him, and he retreated. Cas was right; he’d have to be careful. 

The square was relatively silent as they walked along one of the roadside barriers with their eyes peeled. Adam began to reach his hand back into the backpack where he stashed Michael’s blade when he heard a voice nearby titter, “Not so fast, Baby Winchester.”

Something hard slammed into him from the side and sent him flying across the street, smashing into the row of bleachers set up for outdoor shows. The backpack tore open and the blade skittered across the asphalt far from where Adam lay on his back, groaning, head pounding. 

“ADAM!” 

He heard Dean roar but before he could try to pick his head up and reply, Roman’s face is inches from his, a white mask of death in front of the colors of the billboards and screens. 

“Boo,” Roman said with a sneer. 

Adam snarled and without hesitation jerked his head forward to slam against Roman’s nose, breaking it quickly. Roman cried out in pain and backhanded Adam across the jaw; his lip split and the all-too familiar taste of blood filled his mouth. Before he could try and pick himself up, Roman grabbed him by the jacket shoulders and heaved him to his feet.

“Adam!” Dean called again, but from the corner of his eye Adam could see the horde of Leviathans – about twenty of them – rushing the small group from all corners of the square. None of them approached Roman or Adam, leaving Adam to realize that this was, at last, between the two of them. 

“Just you and me, kid,” Roman said, solidifying Adam’s thoughts, before he turned and threw Adam into the nearby Sephora store window. He crashed through the glass, shielding his face with his arms, and rolled until the backs of his legs hit one of the counters. 

When Roman rushed him again, Adam’s wings flared out and he barreled into the Leviathan boss as hard as he could, and together the two of them began their deadly dance across the square. Adam couldn’t see what was going on with the rest of the group, but from the sound of gunfire and the occasional white light of Balthazar’s grace that he could see, he hoped it was going well, not that he had enough time to look for very long. 

He and Roman wrestled across the sky as archangel and Leviathan tangled in a mess of feathers and teeth. Neither of them had possession of the actual weapon that could kill the other, and so every bite of Roman’s unhinged jaw and every stab of Adam’s sharp wings only did so much damage. Together they tumbled through windows, slammed each other into buildings, tore and clawed at each other’s throats and faces as though hoping to tear the skin off in one fell swoop. At one point they even crashed into the street and sidewalk, making craters in the asphalt. Somersaulting and freefalling alternated as every once in awhile Roman tried to throw Adam down to the street but his wings kept him hovering so he could crack Roman against the nearest building.

If being eaten alive had been any indicator of Adam’s pain threshold, then this fight here and now was another level. The pain wasn’t worse, necessarily, but different. It was a pain that ran deeper, that cut through not just Adam’s skin but his grace and Castiel’s as well. He could feel it recoiling within him whenever Roman struck and it nearly made him sick to his stomach to feel it thrashing around so violently in his own body. He’d been prepared for a fight but he hadn’t expected _this_. 

The soundtrack of the evening was the screams, gunshots, and breaking glass brought on by the chaos in the middle of Times Square, but the blood pounding in Adam’s ears made him nearly deaf to these sounds. The loudest noise was his own ragged breathing as he and Roman launched themselves at one another mercilessly. Occasionally he’d hear a loud _snapping_ noise which he was pretty sure were some of his bones breaking as he hurtled against asphalt and unrelenting steel, but that didn’t matter much; his grace curled around the ruptures and set on healing them as fast as it could. 

Eventually, Adam and Roman crashed through the windows of a restaurant thirty floors above street level. They tumbled over one another, head over heels, before Roman recovered first and launched himself at Adam to wrap his hands around his throat and hold him over the edge of the building, Adam’s battered wings beating almost uselessly at this point. 

“This is why you’re weak,” Roman said when he had a chance to gather his breath. Adam clawed breathlessly at Roman’s tight grip. “Scratches and cuts don’t hurt me much. I heal quickly. But _you_...you bleed.”

Roman whirled and slammed Adam into the floor, crushing his wings under his back. Adam cried out in pain as he felt the left one bend the wrong way, then bit on his bottom lip as he saw the triumph in Roman’s eyes.

“See that? Right there. Weakness. You think you’re something special just because you have some pretty boy angel’s grace inside you? I can make you _break_ , Winchester. I can peel the flesh off your bones and dig my fingers into your ribs. And with that angel blade I’ve got? I can kill you, just like I killed your angel.”

Adam brought his knee up to meet Roman’s stomach and throw him off sideways. The Leviathan rolled towards the window, groaning, but didn’t fall out. Adam used the brief moment of respite to try and choke down Castiel’s grace, which was suddenly paining him and making him double over, eyes squeezed shut and arms wrapped around his midsection as he knelt on the ground. It was like his stomach was about to burst with what felt like something poisonous and dark slithering through his bloodstream and every time he tried to stand it only incapacitated him more. 

_Don’t let it infect you_ , Castiel had said. But what did that mean? How was he supposed to do that? He could already feel the heavy darkness crawling up into his chest cavity close to his heart, chilling him from the inside out. 

With all the strength he could muster, Adam pushed the sickening feeling aside. He had only one objective in mind: kill Roman. He killed Michael and—

The crushing pain brought him down to his knees again. Roman watched, amused, as Adam began to curl up on himself, twisted from the insides.

“You’re pathetic.” Roman sneered down at Adam, standing over him and casting a long shadow across his body. “So weak you can’t even stomach one of our little experiments. I could sense it in you. Castiel’s grace,” Roman answered Adam’s questioning look. “We poisoned it pretty good, didn’t we? Can you taste that?” Roman licked his lips slowly. “The taste of ash and iron and smoke. It’s delicious, isn’t it?”

_Don’t let it consume you._

Adam bit down so hard on his bottom lip that his teeth broke the skin in more places. 

“You know you want more of it, Adam. After all, you’ve eaten it before, drank it before. The taste of Hell isn’t something easily forgotten, is it?” Roman’s dark eyes sparkled. 

_You need to fight back, Adam._

“And you’ve tasted it for so long. Don’t you miss it?”

_He’s trying to tempt you, to turn you over. You need to resist._

Adam had no idea where the voice in his head was coming from, but he automatically assumed that somehow Castiel was able to talk to him through his grace. 

_If he turns you, he has you irreversibly. It’s as good as killing you. Fight him, Adam._ Fight _him._

**I can’t, Cas. It’s too much—**

The voice in his head scoffed. _This isn’t Castiel. But then again, I’m not really surprised you don’t recognize my voice, Adam. We haven’t really talked much, have we?_

**Who the fuck are you?**

_FIGHT HIM._

The voice pulled Adam to his feet, albeit unsteadily. He obeyed without question because somehow he knew, he understood, that the voice was trying to save him. It was right, whoever it was, and it was giving him the strength to fight back and drive away the sickening feeling in his stomach that he only knew to be the poisoned bits of Castiel’s grace trying to infect him. 

The voice continued. _Don’t let vengeance overshadow what’s right. Don’t kill him for the wrong reasons. That’s not you, Adam._

**How the hell would you know?**

Before Adam could wait for the voice to reply, Roman placed a foot on his chest and dug his heel in hard, driving the breath from Adam’s lungs and scorching his insides with loathing and fury. From inside his suit sleeve, Roman unsheathed an angel blade.

“You can’t fight the thing inside you,” Roman taunted, blood trailing down his lips and staining his teeth with red. “So consider me doing you a favor and putting you out of your misery. And look at the bright side,” he added with a mocking grin, “you’ll be with your dead angel soon enough. What do you have to say to that, little Winchester?”

Roman raised the angel blade to bring the final blow when Adam lifted his arm and swiped Roman’s legs out from under him. The Leviathan boss crashed to the ground and lost his grip on the blade just as Adam rolled to his knees, Michael’s sword in hand as he’d managed to grab it while he and Roman tore each other to pieces on the street, and rammed Roman right through the heart, driving the blade as deep as it could possibly go until Adam felt the tip go through the floor beneath them. He gave the blade a hard twist and Roman’s face was a gruesome mask of shock and pain, mouth open in a wide ‘O’ as he stared into Adam’s eyes unblinkingly.

“It’s _Milligan_ , you son of a _bitch_ ,” Adam snarled. 

Roman’s mouth opened and closed a few times in an attempt to respond, but Adam could see Michael’s grace tracing its way through his body, up his chest and in his neck until his eyes began to burn white hot. Adam looked away, momentarily blinded by the sight, as Roman’s body gave a little spasm and strangled cry of pain before falling still. 

Adam released his tight grip on the blade before slumping over to the side, struggling for breath. The voice in his head was gone now, leaving Adam alone and empty, but he had a strange feeling... 

He wanted to just stay there, wings bent, Roman’s blood and ichor trickling across the floor dangerously close to Adam’s hair, but he knew he had to move, had to help the rest of the gang fight off the other Leviathans. He was weak, but he still had to help if he could. 

Adam dragged himself painfully over to the edge of the building and looked down onto the street only to have himself greeted with the surprising but relieving sight of Dean, Sam, Bobby, and Balthazar standing in a semicircle surrounded by the corpses of the Leviathans that had attacked them. There was blood and ichor everywhere; Sam looked like he had a broken arm and with his heightened sense of sight, Adam could see that Bobby’s nose was bent funny, but they were alive and Adam had honestly never been happier to see these assholes in his life. 

He weakly shoved himself off the edge, his wings dragging behind him and catching the gust of wind he created to help blow him over to their direction, descending so quickly that he almost thought he’d hit the ground and crash through the street again, but he managed to float sideways towards the group. In a sudden rush of dizziness, Adam’s feet skimmed the ground and he tumbled over sideways, quickly fusing his wings back so he lay there looking like a broken human rag doll, shivering with relief.

“Adam!” He heard Dean as the elder Winchester rushed over to him, kneeling on the ground and not even hesitating to lift Adam’s upper body up and into his lap, holding him against his chest like Adam was a child. “Adam, I got you. I got you.” He pushed Adam’s bloody and sweaty hair away from his forehead, assessing the damage to his body. 

“Dean...” Adam licked his dry lips, struggling to keep his eyes open despite the tantalizing call of the darkness beyond. “I think...I think I heard him...”

“Heard who?” Dean’s arms tightened around his younger brother.

Adam sighed the name as he lost consciousness: “...Dad...”

The world slipped away.

\---

It was another two days before Adam fully regained consciousness, though he’d been slipping in and out of it every few hours. He knew, for example, that somehow he was back at Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls (Balthazar’s doing, no doubt). He also knew that he was so weak he couldn’t feed himself, and so his stomach felt like it was eating itself out of hunger and desperation. 

Someone was always standing guard over him, as though worried he’d suddenly die on the spot or self-combust. The last time he remembered coming to, Sam had been vigilant by his bedside with his laptop in his lap, browsing Wikipedia for God knows what, but now as Adam opened his eyes to darkness, he could just make out Bobby’s rounded shape in the chair next to his bed.

Adam stared, his breath hitched in his throat as he tried to listen whether or not Bobby was awake. There was a moment of quietude where all Adam could hear was breathing when Bobby murmured, “You awake, kid?”

Adam groaned by way of response; there was a delayed pain reaction and so it was only now that Adam could feel every muscle and bone in his body screaming as he lay there. Even immobile in bed, everything ached. 

“I’m awake,” Adam said hoarsely, his throat dry and lips cracked. He heard the grating sound of the chair move across the floor and saw Bobby’s dark shape lean towards him before he felt the cool touch of a glass at his lips.

“Drink,” Bobby demanded gently. “You need it. Been out of it for awhile.”

Adam complied, drinking so desperately that the slurping and gulping sounds should’ve embarrassed him, but they didn’t. He could feel Bobby watching him carefully even though he couldn’t see the older man, and when he was done drinking the entire glassful of water, he mumbled, “What’ve I missed?”

Bobby took the glass from him and sighed. “Nothin’ much. Sam’s arm is in a sling but he’s healin’ quickly. Dean and Balthazar got rid of all the Leviathan bodies, including Roman’s. Seems the borax bullets did their job.”

“And Cas?” Adam asked, worried.

Bobby nodded. “Cas is doin’ fine. Hospital patched him up and he should be back here by tomorrow.”

Adam sighed with relief and praised, “You did great, Bobby.” 

“So did you.”

Adam’s lips thinned into a tight line as he replayed the events in his head. The fight, Roman’s words, the poison in his grace... “I almost gave in.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I wanted to. It would’ve been so easy.” Adam licked his lips again. “Roman was right. I can’t...I can’t forget Hell. I can’t shake it off.”

“But Gabriel’s grace—”

“His grace healed my soul and kept my sanity. It couldn’t wipe my memories,” Adam interrupted. “It couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth...”

“You fought it off. You fought _him_ off,” Bobby reasoned. He reached forward and clapped Adam on the shoulder, a jarring touch that pulled him out of the darkest confines of his mind and back into the room where they sat. “You could’ve given in _but you didn’t_. And that’s what matters.”

“But I was tempted—”

“So you were tempted. Big flippin’ deal. Everyone gets tempted by something. Look at your brothers, for God’s sake. The point is not to fall victim to it.”

Adam’s lips twitched into what felt like his first smile in eons. Bobby’s hand remained on his shoulder, a comforting anchor, strange only because this was something unfamiliar and fell into uncharted territory, an ocean of neglected years and half-assed birthdays tucked under his belt that made Adam second guess even the most genuine of actions. 

Speaking of neglect: “I think...I think I heard John. In my head,” Adam said carefully. He wasn’t sure if this was a sign of pre-insanity or not but if there was anybody who might have an answer it’d be Bobby.

Bobby’s hand fell from his shoulder. “Yeah, Dean mentioned you said something like that. We all thought you were just babbling nonsense, but I did a little digging just in case it turned out to be something.” 

He let his words hang there. Adam had to push for more. “And?”

Even in the dark he could see Bobby shake his head. “When John...when he died after making that deal with Azazel, he was sent straight to Hell. Do not pass ‘Go,’ do not collect two hundred dollars. But when Azazel opened the Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, John climbed out, and we all just assumed he’d moved on. Passed. Disappeared in a bright white light.”

“But...?” Adam could sense there was a ‘but’ coming up.

“But,” Bobby conceded, “there was more. Y’see, I thought John had moved on after he helped Sam and Dean kill Azazel. I figured _that_ was his unfinished business. He’d been hunting the damn thing for so long it just seemed like the only explanation on the table. But it was something else that was keeping him: the need to protect his boys.” Bobby looked pointedly at Adam in the dark. “ _All_ of them.”

Adam was suddenly thankful the room was dark, the better to hide the open-mouthed expression of shock on his face. “N-No, Bobby. That can’t be right. He never gave a shit about me, not really. I was an obligation to him.”

“When you were alive, yeah,” Bobby explained. “But then you died and came back, died and came back, and you were changed. It was noticeable. You weren’t some snot-nosed bastard son anymore. You started holding you own, even against your brothers. You done good, kid,” Bobby chuckled. He nudged Adam with his elbow. “I’m not sayin’ you should drop on your knees and forgive him for everything right this second, but maybe he’s realized his mistakes. That’s why he came to help you when you needed it the most. It’s a start, ain’t it?”

Adam kept the noise of disbelief in his throat and buried it along with any tears that threatened to spill over.

\---

True to expectation, Balthazar returned the following morning with a brand new Castiel at his side, a Castiel bathed in yellow and gold light with a smile on his face and a Dean in his arms, hugging the hunter like he was _trying_ to break him in half. Sam was next and gave the former angel a bear hug to put all others to shame, broken arm be damned, and once Bobby was done slapping Castiel on the back, the blue-eyed man turned to Adam, who couldn’t help but break into a wide smile. 

“You did it,” Castiel said, his voice muffled as he buried his face in Adam’s shoulder, arms around the tall blonde as he sagged slightly into him.

Adam wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist, partly to hold him up because he was a little woozy from morphine, partly with relief that he was doing okay. “Yeah, thanks to you. Your grace...it worked. It almost didn’t, but it worked.”

Castiel nodded and pulled away. “I apologize if I seem a little more...emotional than normal, but seeing as I’m human—”

“Just cry and get it over with,” Bobby joked. 

Castiel grinned but Adam could see the promise of tears in his eyes, distorting the blue. “I am relieved to see you all in one piece. Part of me worried if...if you could do it.”

Dean crossed his arms and scoffed. “Thanks for your support.”

“But here you all are.” Castiel continued as though Dean hadn’t spoken. “You’ve done it.”

“And just in time for Sunday dinner,” Balthazar added as he swept into the kitchen with all the air of one intent on getting his way and sitting them all around the table together. “I’m thinking chicken Kiev with mash. Or maybe we’ll go a different route and try some paella. Adam, would you help me cook?”

Adam made to walk after Balthazar but Castiel’s hand on his arm held him back. “Actually, I’d like to speak with Adam privately, if you’ll not mind.”

Thinking Castiel probably just wanted his grace back, Adam consented to follow Castiel up the staircase and back into the bedroom where Adam had first grown his wings. The tarp was still covering the hole in the wall where Michael had pushed him out to fly, and the sight both amused and saddened Adam so that he had to sit down heavily on the bed to keep himself steady. Castiel hesitated before joining him, hands clasped in his lap. 

After a beat or two of silence, Castiel spoke. “I’m assuming my grace has been healed, then?”

Adam nodded. “Healed and ready to go whenever you want it.”

Castiel had never claimed to be Adam’s closest friend, but he could still tell the difference in his voice when he spoke. “You sound...sad. Defeated. Why? You won, Adam. This was a great victory for everyone.”

“I won? Cas, I...I have nothing left.”

“You have your brothers. Your _family_.”

Adam shook his head. “It’s not enough, man.”

“Then what is it you want? What would make it enough for you, Adam?”

“Damnit, Cas. Just drop it, okay? You _know_ what would be enough. Just...just take your grace and let’s help Balthazar cook dinner before he drinks all the wine before we can get to it ourselves.”

Castiel stared at Adam’s outstretched hand, a frown curling his lips downward in disappointment. “I refuse to drop it until you tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for. What would make this a perfect victory for you?”

Adam scoffed, wanting nothing more than to fling sarcastic, angry words at the man sitting next to him, but he knew that would get them nowhere. After everything Castiel had done to help him and help his brothers, Adam knew he didn’t deserve that. It wouldn’t be fair, not after everything the fallen angel had given. In that sense, he and Castiel were more alike than he thought. 

Castiel smelled a little like fresh cotton and it soothed Adam’s senses as he spoke, feeling more relaxed as he did so: “I want...I want the most impossible, ridiculous things, Cas. I want my mom back. I want my old life...before all this supernatural shit came into play. But then I wouldn’t have met Michael, and I wouldn’t have...have had him at all. And I want him back too.” Adam’s head spun with the complicated web of desires he’d just weaved. “I know it’s all unrealistic, and I know it’s all impossible. But you asked. So I guess the next thing you’ll tell me is that I should be happy with what I have and that we’re all alive and that we should all hug it out like a proper family, am I right?” 

He couldn’t stop the derision from leaking into his voice, but Castiel didn’t seem at all bothered by it. Instead, he clapped Adam on the shoulder and squeezed a bit, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Yes, you should be happy, Adam. You _should be happy_ , which is why I’m going to help you get what you want. All of it.”

Adam looked at Castiel’s face to see if maybe the joke was hidden in his chiseled features, but he found nothing less than sincerity. “Wanna help me decode that, Obi-Wan?”

Castiel chuckled. “Tell me, Adam. Have you ever heard of Ascension?”

Adam furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head no. “I didn’t exactly go to Sunday school like a good little boy.”

“It’s not something you might’ve picked up on, even if you had,” Castiel explained. “It’s a...a complicated procedure. A very rare thing.”

“Well what is it?”

“It’s entering Heaven without dying first. Usually it’s only reserved for those who have lived their lives with great devotion to God. The perfectly pious, I suppose you could say.”

Adam was already shaking his head before Castiel had finished explaining. “That’s not me, Cas. I’m not religious or pious or devoted to God. I mean: I’m an illegitimate little bastard. I’m already marked for Hell. Again. What makes you think God’s gonna just decide to let me through the pearly gates because I killed Dick Roman?”

“Who said anything about God letting you through?” Castiel had a twinkle in his eye. 

Adam quirked an eyebrow high. “What’re you thinking?”

Castiel pushed himself off the bed and began to pace slowly in front Adam. “I am thinking,” he said as he walked, “that perhaps there’s a way for me to help you get what you want. Everything you want.”

“By Ascension? Man, are you even strong enough for that?”

“Not with my grace, I won’t be. But with Gabriel’s...” He trailed off and let it sink in, watching Adam’s face carefully as it morphed from confusion to crippling realization. “I can help you Ascend, Adam, if I have both graces. I know how to do it. We were taught.”

“You were taught how to kick people up the ladder?”

“We don’t use it profusely. Only about a dozen people in history have ever Ascended.”

“And you’d let me be one of them?”

“Adam, if there’s anyone who deserves Ascension, it’s you.” Castiel sat back down on the bed. “Think about it. You can be with Kate again. Michael. You wouldn’t have to run from this life forever. You can finally rest and have peace without dying.”

Adam sighed and once again felt the familiar weight of a heavy decision on his shoulder. He knew without having to ask that this Ascension thing was irreversible. Sure, he wouldn’t be dead, but he was pretty certain he wouldn’t be allowed to pop back to Earth at his leisure. Once Ascended, that was the end of his existence here. He wouldn’t have to worry about tagging along with Sam and Dean, about being the kid brother who was thrust into the lifestyle that had gotten him killed in the first place. He would never be happy here. Not as a hunter. Not without his mom. Not without Michael, after having just found him, fallen for him, needed him. 

“And...you think you can manage that?” Adam asked tentatively. “With both yours and Gabriel’s grace combined?”

Castiel nodded, then confirmed Adam’s thoughts, “But it’s not a decision to be made lightly. Once Ascended, you can’t come back down. It’s all or nothing.”

Adam nibbled on his bottom lip anxiously. Of course it wouldn’t be that simple to make this kind of decision. Of course. But he knew what he wanted and what he’d be willing to do to get it. The feeling of loss was an ice pick chipping away at his resolve ever so slowly. He could’ve resisted it before but now...now the feeling was intensified, made worse by the knowledge that what he wanted was so close yet so far away.

He thought about it, about having to go downstairs to tell Sam and Dean and Bobby that he was leaving them, that this wasn’t the lifestyle for him but Godspeed to them for continuing the fight. He thought about curling up with his mom on the couch again like when he was younger and they would watch Saturday morning cartoons together. He thought about school and ten-page term papers and a life and future he could never fully retrieve. He thought about a different future, a life on the road sandwiched between two brothers who became family to him at long last, but the thought of that future, that utter lack of choice (because it was taken from him when he was nineteen and naïve) wasn’t an option he could live with.

And so instead he thought about Michael, about lying in bed together to chase away the nightmares, about eating breakfast together with Michael’s toes on the skin of Adam’s ankle under the table, about Michael pushing a book out of Adam’s hands because _I love you and I want you to kiss me_ was their native language at home. And it was in thinking of these things, these memories and wishes and projections of time, that Adam found his answer, and this time it was he who held out his hand to Castiel.

\---

Balthazar’s chicken Kiev and paella – a quirky combination of two distinct foods that shouldn’t mix but somehow did – kept the company well fed during the sit-down dinner that followed Adam’s and Castiel’s upstairs conversation. Dean had asked what was going on, but judging from the perfectly constructed poker faces on both victims of circumstance, he decided to drop it and let them be at peace as they dove into the food with a ravenous hunger of which any Leviathan would’ve been jealous. 

As Adam looked around the table, he couldn’t help but study each of his companions carefully, knowing full well that this was, in a sickly true way, the last supper. Dean and his faithful beer at hand. Sam and that lopsided grin on his face. Balthazar and his stupid, too-deep V-necks that he loved so much. Castiel’s stiff etiquette but penchant for smiling at everybody around him. Bobby and his deep laughs, almost real guffaws, as he reclined in his chair, a beer to match Dean’s. 

Everybody at the table knew there was more to what was going on tonight, that there would be an intermission and a second act and a grand finale, but as far as they knew, Adam was smiling, and damnit that was good enough. Nobody wanted to pry and certainly nobody wanted to ask the big ‘how are you feeling’ question because all they would get would be lies, and even if there were lies, that was at least better than the truth, which would hurt more. As far as Adam looked on the outside, he was just happy they were all alive and together. They were all making jokes and in good humor and there was absolutely no reason to ruin that. 

They ate and then had seconds and Dean and Balthazar even had it in them to get some thirds before everybody leaned back in their seats, stomachs full to bursting and content looks on all their faces. Castiel still had a smile on his face and Sam’s eyes were half-closed in exhausted satisfaction. Adam studied them all, making sure these were the faces he’d remember: the calm, untroubled, relaxed looks on all their faces. It would be a comfort for him to know that he left them in good spirits. 

Sam seemed to notice Adam’s unusual silent pleasantness because he said, “You feelin’ okay, Adam? You’re pretty quiet.”

Adam nodded slightly. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Just a little tired is all.”

“And deservedly so,” Balthazar cut in from his end of the table. “Boy took on the boss man himself and lived to tell the tale. I’m surprised he’s not keeling over out of his seat by now.”

Adam grinned good-naturedly. “I’m the little vessel that could, remember?”

Balthazar tipped his glass of wine in Adam’s direction in acknowledgement while everyone else started clearing the table. Sam’s one working arm was laden with plates as he shuffled back into the kitchen with Bobby trailing behind, mumbling something about ‘finally fixing the damn hole in Adam’s room.’

Hearing Bobby refer to it as ‘Adam’s room’ only made him feel worse about what he was planning tonight. He shot Castiel a secretive look across the table and the angel stared back unreservedly, trying to calm Adam down with simply a look. It partly worked; Adam could feel his panicked heartbeat settle itself in his chest. He knew Castiel’s wordless advice to be true. He had to stay calm and act like nothing was out of the ordinary, for everyone else’s sake. 

Adam caught Dean’s eye as the eldest Winchester passed by with an empty pie pan in hand (devoured viciously during dessert). “Hey, Dean? You wanna...wanna have a beer?”

“Hmm?” Dean mumbled; he was still chewing on something, probably the leftover chocolate muffins Castiel had whipped up.

“A beer. For celebratory...reasons and shit.” Adam brought his voice to a more confident level. Castiel nodded approvingly out of Dean’s line of sight. “I mean, it just seems right, given...everything.”

Dean stared at him for a second, face unreadable, eyes unblinking, before nodding. “Yeah, all right. One celebratory beer, coming up.”

And that was how Adam found himself sitting on the front porch sandwiched between Dean and Sam, who’d joined the after Adam convinced him one drink for fun wouldn’t taint the evening, but enhance it. The night air was warm but not uncomfortable, and the cool beer in the hands of the Winchesters was a pleasant juxtaposing sensation. 

“This is nice,” Sam commented after a moment’s silence, with only the occasional sip of beer as movements that broke the stationary monotony. “I never thought we’d end up here.”

“You mean you, me, the twerp, and a whole world in front of us?” Dean asked before Adam shoved him lightly. “Yeah, me either.”

Sam chuckled and swirled his beer around in his bottle. “Yeah, that.” He stared at the golden liquid. “I just always figured it’d be you and me, Dean. Us against the world.”

Dean hummed in agreement with his lips around his bottle. “Me too, Sam. Trust me. If not for Michael...” here he looked at Adam carefully, who remained stone faced, “...well, we wouldn’t have Adam at all.”

Adam’s jaw tightened. It was one thing for him to want to just drink a beer with his brother and say goodbye, but now...now with them showing their appreciation of him, it was even harder. And Dean...if Adam had heard correctly, that was a Dean Winchester-style acceptance of a Michael-style apology made long ago. The unexpected gravity of Dean finally facing the fact that Michael meant well took the breath from Adam’s lungs for a moment. He took a large sip of beer to cover up his frozen surprise. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed as Adam drank and pretended like he wasn’t there.” We do owe Michael a lot.” He glanced at Adam. “’M sorry for what happened to him. We never...we never talked about it, did we?”

Adam shrugged. “There was a lot more going on, with Cas and the Leviathans and everything.”

“Well we can talk now, man. We’ve got time,” Sam said.

Next to Adam, Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, really?”

Sam shot him a vicious look, but Adam was already shaking his head. “I’m not gonna sob on your shoulders and eat spoonfuls of Chunky Monkey, man. I mean, I’m...I’m messed up over it. Definitely. But...I just got a handle on it.”

Both older brothers gave him similar looks of disbelief. Adam couldn’t help but look away uncomfortably, feeling trapped between the two.

“A handle on it,” Dean repeated. He scoffed and shook his head. “We don’t want you to just have a handle on it, Adam. We want you to have the whole damn thing, whatever it is. Your sanity, your happiness...whatever it is you’re looking for, you deserve all of it. Heaven knows you’ve been through enough to deserve some kind of happy ending.”

“And whatever that entails,” Sam added quickly, catching Dean’s eye, “we just want it to be something you want for yourself.”

Adam looked back and forth between the two of them, totally stumped. “What’re you guys trying to say?” he asked suspiciously.

“Exactly what we’ve said,” Sam said. “We want you to be happy, man. If that means crying into a Ben and Jerry’s or smashing apart a car, by all means, go for it.”

“Just don’t touch my baby,” Dean warned, referring of course to the Impala.

Adam chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Damn straight.”

Adam sipped his beer until he finished it off, contemplating their words, distracted only by the nervous fluttering in his stomach as he thought about what the darkness tonight would bring him, about the mysteries into which Castiel was about to fling him. 

Adam took their words as a blessing, a promise of their faith and belief in him, and so he heaved himself off the porch and dusted off the seat of his jeans, resigning himself to the road ahead. “I oughta get to bed. It’s getting late and I’m still kinda tired...”

He said it apologetically but Sam waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Get some rest, all right? We’ll see you in the morning.”

Adam nodded, the guilt choking his throat in an iron grip he couldn’t break. He wanted to say goodnight, wanted to give them each a hug, something defined as an ending but wouldn’t be too obvious to them, but decided against it for the sake of putting on the pretense of it just being another normal night. 

“’Night Adam.” Dean raised his almost-empty beer bottle in his direction. 

Adam stared at the two of them, side by side, brothers until death and then some, and smiled before disappearing into the house. 

Once Adam was out of earshot, Dean turned to Sam, eyebrow quirked with an unspoken question.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam remarked with a patented bitch face. “You know we had to lie to him. He wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise.”

“That felt like a shit goodbye,” Dean said with a shake of his head. “It wasn’t even real.”

“We knew Adam was saying goodbye,” Sam reasoned with his older brother calmly. “Adam just...didn’t know we were, too.”

Dean paused for a moment before snapping, “I oughta kick Balthazar’s ass for ever telling us what he overheard. It only made things worse, y’know.”

Sam shrugged as though to say, ‘too late now.’ They sat together in uncomfortable silence, each of their hearts heavy with things left unsaid, assurances left unspoken, grudges and arguments and assumptions left unfixed and unaccounted for. Dean wanted to run inside and stop Adam and Cas, to tell them this was stupid and unnecessary, that Adam could make it in the world with their lifestyle, but...he knew that wasn’t true. Adam didn’t belong with them, chasing monsters and living out of the Impala and shitty roadside hotels. He belonged – always belonged, it seemed – with his mom, with someone who could give him that normalcy he’d lost three years ago. 

Dean made a motion to say something to Sam, but whatever he’d planned to say was lost in his throat as the Winchesters heard what sounded like wood splintering and they leapt to their feet, turning towards Bobby’s house with wide eyes. They saw the light shining from Adam’s room, the purest and most brilliant color that made them turn their faces away momentarily before it faded out and the night swallowed it up.

And then there was silence.


	12. A Better Place, A Better Time

The fifth time, Adam Milligan was born from darkness.

Floundering in the consuming black, unable to open his eyes, Adam pushed and kicked as he tried to gasp for air but nothing happened except that he felt a crushing chokehold on his throat. He clutched at it but the motion threw off his balance and he careened wildly, head over heels, eyes shut tight as he tried to will away the spinning and the dizziness; nausea was threatening to make him throw up all of the dinner he’d eaten that night. 

And then as soon as it started it was over, and Adam found himself slammed into the hard ground, spine making contact with what felt like asphalt. Adam grunted in pain and rolled onto his side, cradling his elbow, which had apparently also taken a hit. His cheek rested against beige sidewalk and he felt the rough caress of gravel as he grit his teeth. 

“Jesus, Cas,” Adam spat, “you talk about Ascension like it’s this holy process but this is the least holy landing ever.”

From somewhere above him, Castiel said, “My apologies. I haven’t done this before. I had no idea what the landing would be like.”

Adam picked himself off the ground slowly, testing his limbs for any extensive injuries, but found that he was still in one piece. Castiel watched him with a slight smile on his face as Adam straightened up and asked, “So the two graces are working for you?”

“Yes. With both of them...I feel fully restored,” Castiel said with a nod, flexing his fingers on his right hand as though feeling for the doubled power coursing through his veins. “Stronger than when I only had my own grace.” He caught Adam’s eyes and blue met blue. “Thank you, Adam.”

“Thank _you._ ”

The two of them grinned at each other before Adam took the time to look at their surroundings and recognize where they were. “...We’re in Windom.”

“Of course. We’re in your mother’s Heaven. I thought I’d bring you here as your starting-off point.” When confronted with Adam’s questioning look, Castiel elaborated. “You’re technically not dead, so you’re allowed to travel wherever you want. You can visit other peoples’ heavens, reconnect with loved ones lost, go exploring...you have free reign in Heaven, Adam. Why do you think God doesn’t let just anybody Ascend? He needs to know He can trust the ones He chooses.”

“And He thinks I’m trustworthy?” Adam asked, awestruck at the very thought. 

Castiel’s eyes sparkled. “He didn’t exactly give consent yet, seeing as He’s nowhere to be found, but I’m fairly certain He’d not mind giving you the run of the place. I can’t see you doing much damage here, Adam. It’s not like you.”

“ _Adam?_ ”

A familiar female voice went right through Adam’s chest and pierced his lungs, taking the breath from him instantaneously as he and Castiel turned around to face Adam’s house in Windom, looking the way it did three years prior. Standing on the front porch in a pink-and-white cooking apron with the remnants of flour on her rolled-up sleeves was Kate Milligan, her blonde hair in a haphazard bun and a shocked look on her delicate face.

Adam must’ve been standing there stunned for a moment or two because he suddenly felt Castiel’s firm hand on the small of his back, pushing him forward slightly. “Go. You’ll be fine here, Adam.”

Adam looked at the angel with shining eyes but Castiel was smiling at him. “You’re welcome,” he said to the thanks that didn’t need speaking. As a farewell, he added, “I know you’ll be happy here. At peace. And I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you,” Adam said breathlessly, a little too late, but it needed to be said. 

Castiel pushed him forward again and that was all the momentum Adam needed to move his legs until he was running at his mother, falling into her open arms and shamelessly crushing her smaller body to his. When her arms wrapped around his back and she squeezed her face into his shoulder as he stood taller than her, Adam whimpered but tried not to cry, not now, because he had to at least try to talk to her before he dissolved into a sobbing mess. 

“Mom,” he greeted hoarsely, his voice failing him for the moment.

Kate sighed into his shoulder; he could feel her lips trembling against his shirt. “Adam. Sweetheart.”

“It hurt, Mom.” Holding back his tears didn’t work as well as he thought. “Dying.”

She shushed him and rubbed soothing circles into his back, rocking him back and forth slightly and making him sway almost in sync with the calming breeze that made the grass rustle and the wind chimes on the porch roof tinkle. Adam held her like a lifeline, shaking with sobs so long overdue that no sound came out; he sounded as though he were being strangled. 

Kate pulled away, resting her hands on Adam’s shoulders, and grinned at him. “You’re here a lot earlier than I expected, hon.”

Adam laughed through his tears. “I had a little help. My friend Cas brought me up here early...” At the mention of the angel-turned-human-turned-angel, Adam looked back at the sidewalk, but Castiel was already gone. 

Kate peered over his shoulder and said, “The man you were with? He’s an angel, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is. He helped us out a lot on earth.”

Kate used the pad of her thumb to wipe Adam’s tears away before cupping his cheek and smiling. “Why don’t we go inside, I’ll cook you some dinner, and you tell me all about it?”

\---

Despite having just eaten a last meal fit for kings when he was on earth, Adam found that Ascending took a lot out of his system, and that included whatever had been in his stomach. Kate’s dinner, therefore, was probably the most filling, most delicious meal he’d ever had. It was like he tasted food for the first time, what with her homemade macaroni and cheese that he devoured like a starving man. Granted, her cooking had always been the best thing in Adam’s opinion, but now it was just heavenly, no pun intended. 

Kate refrained from eating, instead taking to sipping from a glass of water while she sat across the kitchen table from her son, who was telling his story with his mouth slightly full but she grinned and let him carry on anyway, manners be damned. He was excited and she wasn’t about to yell at him for that. 

Telling Kate all about what he’d been through was a reminder of why Adam loved his mother so much. She reacted perfectly at all the right things, in all the right moments. Horror when he told her about falling into the Cage and the torture he’d endured there (though he spared her the gruesome details, for the most part). Skepticism when he first mentioned Michael, which then turned to quiet surprise and finally a twinkling understanding. She was interested in Sam and Dean, and she thought Bobby sounded like ‘quite the character.’ Sadness was reserved for the moment when Adam relayed Castiel’s situation, and she rolled her eyes good-naturedly at Balthazar. A shadow fell over her face when Adam finally introduced Dick Roman and she looked petrified at his retelling of their final battle. 

At the end of his story when he finally finished telling her about Ascension, Kate leaned back in her seat like she’d just satisfied and engorged herself on a Thanksgiving meal, fingers laced over her stomach and back fully reclined against the chair. She wasn’t smiling.

“Honey,” she said gently, “you’ve been through so much.”

Adam scraped the last bit of mac and cheese from his bowl and nodded without looking up. “I know. It’s been a bit of a rough ride.”

She grinned only slightly. “You’re doing yourself a disservice by calling it only a rough ride. Most grown men wouldn’t have been able to deal with what you’ve been through.” 

“I didn’t do it all on my own,” Adam said with a modest shrug of the shoulders. “I mean, without Michael’s help I probably wouldn’t have gotten past growing that set of wings.” The very act itself seemed years ago, decades, hidden away in a part of time that was unreachable. Everything that had happened between growing his wings and sitting here with his mother was smudged, like someone had taken an eraser to his life and tried rubbing away. “But I’m just...really glad I’m here.” He glanced up at Kate. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Kate smiled brightly at last. “I’ve missed you too, Adam. You’ve been here, though. Well, your younger self,” she amended, seeing the confused look on his face. “Apparently my version of Heaven was that one morning I let you have ice cream and cake for breakfast, remember? On your birthday in the second grade?”

Adam grinned, recalling the chocolate cake he’d eaten in place of cereal, the ice cream instead of fruit, the chocolate milk instead of orange juice. It had been a great start to the day, there was no doubt about that. “Yeah, I remember. Why’s that your favorite memory though?”

“You were so happy back then,” Kate said wistfully, eyes glazing over as she recalled the memory. “We both were. Before life got complicated and the past caught up with us.” She meant John, but she didn’t say so. 

Adam studied Kate for a moment, looking at the comfortable way she held herself, at the slight glow of her face as she sat there, at the way her whole body sighed in relaxation in a way he hadn’t seen in years. The stress of her work had kept her busy almost constantly, but now, here, she seemed truly at peace. Happy, even. With a grunt of effort, Adam pushed himself out of his seat and walked to stand next to her before crouching down so he was leveled slightly below her eye line. Kate looked down at him and, for the first time, Adam could see a layer of tears building up. 

“I’m here now, Mom,” Adam said gently, smiling encouragingly. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

Kate smiled through her tears. “I know, hon. And I’m glad you’re here. But part of me...part of me is angry for thinking that. You should be out there in the world living your life, not stuck here with me, never changing, never experiencing new things—”

“Mom, wait.” Adam stopped her with a hand on hers. “I _want_ to be here. This was my choice, remember? Nobody else’s.” He gave her smaller hand a squeeze. “I love you, Mom. And I want to be here with you.”

“I love you too, Adam. So, so much.”

Adam grinned; he’d missed hearing those words more than he thought. Kate ran a comforting hand through his hair, looking down at him with such a combination of sadness and joy that Adam wasn’t sure whether he felt like laughing or crying. 

Before he could get a good handle on his emotions, however, she pulled her hand away and asked, “Would you like seconds? You always were a hungry kid. Don’t think much has changed.”

Adam chuckled and stood up with Kate. “You got that right. I think I got that from the Winchester side of the family.”

Kate pulled out another box of pasta from the cupboard, thinking to herself that out of her son’s bravery, loyalty, compassion, and deep ability to love, that this wasn’t the only trait he’d inherited from John Winchester.

\---

Time in Heaven was irrelevant. Adam couldn’t keep track of how many days he’d spent there, nor did he actually care. They were perfect, picturesque days filled with nothing but time spent with his mom. He helped her cook all the meals, which was a fairly new experience considering she usually had work to do. He taught her how to make all his favorite dishes, which were more complicated than the dinners she’d make for herself on late nights at the hospital, in another life. When they weren’t making meals, they were relaxing around the house, watching movies, reading, going through junk in the attic and reliving the memories of days long left in the shade of the past. Occasionally, Adam would run to the local store to restock on food, and when they were feeling up to it, together they’d go to the movie theater or the diner or a fancy restaurant for kicks. It was as if Heaven was a carbon copy of all that made Windom good and peaceful, and Adam and Kate Milligan were making the most of it. 

It was only after what felt like months in Kate’s Heaven that something shifted into place.

“You should go exploring,” Kate said randomly one afternoon as they were returning from a day in the theater ( _X-Men: First Class_ got four stars in Adam’s book). She shrugged her jacket off her shoulders and tossed it onto the couch in the living room. “There’s a lot to see out there. Heavens overlap, click into place next to each other. You could run into somebody.”

Adam snorted and dropped onto the couch next to his mom’s jacket. “Like who? ‘S not like I know a whole lot of dead people, other than dear old dad, and I’m not exactly keen to run into him just yet.”

Kate shook her head as she stood next to the couch, arms crossed over her chest. “I wasn’t suggesting John. I just meant...honey, you know I love having you around.” She smiled. “And I’m happy you’re enjoying spending time with me. But...you should get out of the house, too. Wander a bit. I did some of my own journeying before I settled in here. It’ll do you good. Open your eyes a bit to what’s out there.”

Adam shrugged. “What _is_ out there?”

Kate grinned. “Everything.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow but before he could ask her what she meant, she turned and waltzed into the kitchen to make dinner. He remained sitting on the couch, turning her suggestion over in his head. She was right, after all; she wasn’t going anywhere, and their house would always be here. There was no harm in wandering around outside the limits of their Heaven and straying into others. Maybe he’d make a new friend or two. 

And so it was the next day that Adam left the house alone for the first time and wandered down his street. He was bundled up in his trusty beige jacket that had somehow found its way into his closet in Heaven; autumn was in full swing despite whatever season it was down on Earth. 

He didn’t expect to find much, to be honest. He knew this road and knew that if you walked down it far enough, it winded sharply to the right before straightening out again and leading to a row of nice, huge houses that were part of a recent development in Windom a few years back. Past the houses would be the elementary school Adam attended as a kid, and past that would be the main center of town with all the shops, Main Street, and the restaurants. It was a pretty standard town and Adam figured he had the layout already mapped out in his head. 

Imagine his surprise when he rounded the sharp right hand turn and found himself in an alleyway in someone’s Parisian Heaven. 

Adam did a double take and looked behind him. Sure enough, the road in Windom was still there, flawlessly transforming from grey asphalt to brown cobblestones. The trees melted into each other and became red and brown brick buildings stacked haphazardly against a clear blue sky that matched the one in Windom. It was warmer here though, and his jacket became unnecessary. Without thinking twice about it, Adam shrugged it off his shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby chair outside a café. 

Kate was right. There was a lot out here. 

Adam spent the rest of the day exploring what he dubbed Paris 2.0. He ran into plenty of people during his journey, but didn’t stop to speak to any of them. Instead, he chose to play spectator. He watched elderly couples walk arm in arm with each other into flower shops, young kids (which pained his heart, but nevertheless, they looked happy) run around and chase each other, making the pigeons scatter and take off into the sky. There were street vendors ‘selling’ their wares, but really they were giving things away for free because apparently here, money wasn’t an issue. Adam was grateful for this, because damn if he was going to try and get a nutella crepe from Paris 2.0 and not have the Euro to pay for it. 

He sat down heavily on a nearby bench and ate his crepe, savoring the warmth and gooey feeling of the nutella in every bite. Yeah. This was Heaven, pun intended. 

Since finding Paris 2.0, Adam’s days in Heaven were filled with a lot more exploring. It turned out that every day, that one road led somewhere different each time, but no matter how long Adam spent in a new country or city or continent, the road would always lead right back to his house in Windom. 

On several occasions, Kate went with him. She wasn’t strong or powerful enough to wander on her own, but because of Adam’s “special circumstances” they were able to travel out of Windom’s boundaries as long as she was with Adam. They took a gondola ride in Venice together and had a lovely Italian meal on a bridge that jutted out across the water. They climbed the steps of the Parthenon and watched the sun go down, sitting side by side eating Ouzo cookies. They finally visited the Empire State Building like they’d always wanted to and, despite Kate’s insistence that it was probably unhealthy to do so, Adam ate a few hot dogs and pretzels from the street vendors. Continental borders had no meaning, nor did the passing of time, nor did the distance between places. Everything was as close or as far as they wanted it to be; in short, the perfect distance. The perfect places. The perfect companions. 

For once, Adam’s mind was at peace. The puzzle pieces of his life that had once been rearranged and scattered were slowly slotting back into place and filling him with a kind of completeness he’d thought was lost to him. Step by step, he was healing and feeling better about where his life had taken him. It may not have gone in the direction he’d wanted at first, but he was here now and he might as well make the most of it. 

There was a change in the atmosphere one morning as Adam sat at the foot of the staircase lacing up his Chucks. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it or discern the way the air shifted, felt lighter, warmer, but all the same he felt more refreshed this morning than he had on any other. Where would he and Kate end up today? Only time would tell...except when Kate descended the stairs, she was still in her pajamas and bathrobe, her blonde hair a ruffled mess but her face bright with a smile. 

“Uh, Mom? Shouldn’t you be dressed or something?”

Kate’s smile didn’t even waver. “Actually, I was thinking today would be a good day for you to explore on your own again. You haven’t done that in awhile.”

Adam blinked. “Well, yeah. Because I like going with you.”

Kate settled herself down on the steps next to Adam and brushed a wayward piece of blonde hair from his forehead. She leaned to kiss his temple and he sighed, closing his eyes in contentment. “And I’m glad that you don’t think you’re too old to hang out with your mom. But I’m still a little tired from yesterday anyway, hon. The Mayans built one too many steps to their temples.” She chuckled good-naturedly. “You have fun wherever you end up, alright?”

And so it was that Adam found himself fifteen minutes later ambling down the street by himself, turning the familiar corner, and anticipating...anticipating what? He wasn’t sure where he wanted the road to lead him this time. He didn’t have any particular preference at the moment, and to be honest, he liked letting the path surprise him all the time. It did come as a surprise, then, when Adam rounded the corner and found himself surrounded by nothing.

Nothing. Everything was white – the ground beneath him, the spot where the sky should’ve been above him, the places where the trees once were...everything. Adam turned to look behind him and saw that the road in Windom was still there, but everything else had been colored out as though a kid went crazy with White-Out. 

Adam made a motion to go back and try again – perhaps his and his mom’s comings and goings had short-circuited Heaven’s services – when he spotted a patch of color in the distance to his right. He squinted and was able to make out a park bench with a figure sitting there, hunched over and head bowed. Thoroughly creeped out by the presence of the single bench and broad-shouldered figure in the middle of all the nothingness, Adam blinked and stood there quietly, trying to survey if there was any immediate danger in approaching the stranger. It was only when the stranger picked his head up and Adam caught sight of the dark hair that his heart pushed against his chest and threatened to burst. 

All thoughts of leaving the whitened landscape behind, Adam broke into a run that left his legs burning and his lungs on fire with the effort, but it was worth it when he shouted, “Michael!” and the figure turned in his seat. Blue eyes met green for the first time in what felt like decades, centuries even, and Adam nearly tripped over his own feet in his panicked sprint. 

He hadn’t expected to see Michael again, much less with that shocked and disappointed look on his face, a storm of anger brewing in the green of his eyes. Adam practically skidded to a halt in front of him; maybe this was an illusion. His Michael wouldn’t look at him so crossly, not when this was their first time seeing each other in God knows how long...

Michael violently grabbed his shoulders and that’s when Adam knew he was real. “What are you doing here?” Michael demanded. 

There was nothing that indicated happiness on his face or in his eyes. This was a soldier of Heaven glaring at him, not the archangel Adam had grown to love. Adam nearly choked on his own fear and dismay. Had being in Heaven erased all of Michael’s feelings for him, wiped him clean?

Michael tightened his grip on Adam’s shoulders. “I asked you what you’re doing here. You’re supposed to be _alive_ and _fighting_ , Adam. Not dead and in Heaven. What did you do? _What did you do?_ ” Tears welled at the corners of his eyes and Adam realized what was going on.

“Michael – hey! _Hey,_ ” Adam said calmly, bring his hands up to cup the former angel’s face, forcing them to lock eyes. “I didn’t die to get here, okay? Cas used his and Gabriel’s mojo and he helped me Ascend up here. I fought Roman, okay? I fought him and I won. _I won._ ” He brushed his thumb over Michael’s cheekbone and searched his face for some kind of understanding. “I didn’t kill myself to be with you or anything, alright? I wouldn’t have done that and left everything behind unfinished. I was done and tired and I came here to be with my mom.”

Michael’s anger slowly subsided and the creases in his forehead smoothed out, the gentleness Adam found so familiar returning to his eyes as he listened to him. “Y-You Ascended...?” He sounded perplexed.

Adam nodded and dropped his hands from Michael’s face to his shoulders where he squeezed comfortingly. “I did. Cas had enough power in the end to do it. I’ve been here for...I don’t know how long. But I found my mom and we’ve been living in our old house ever since I got here and—” His voice cracked as he swallowed and tried to go on. “And I’ve missed you and didn’t think I’d see you again after everything...I didn’t know if you’d be here because you were an archangel so I thought you’d be on some other plane of existence or something. And I’d almost given up on finding you but I needed you and will always need you and—”

Michael cut him off with soft familiar lips against Adam’s, pressing gentle but firm as though he’d been waiting a lifetime for this. Adam’s eyes closed as he clutched himself closer to Michael and the puzzle pieces of their bodies slotted together, finding home again. Michael’s arms moved around Adam’s waist and together they were able to remember how it felt to hold each other, feel each other’s warmth, _fit_ somewhere, belong to someone. It had been so long but the knowledge was always there, the familiarity and the longing always present, just tucked away to spare themselves the pain of never knowing when they’d see each other again. But it was here and now in the middle of the nothingness in between Heavens that they finally found each other. 

Adam pulled back from Michael’s lips breathlessly but kept his forehead pressed to the other man’s, sighing into Michael’s touch as his hands gently soothed Adam’s back. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Michael sighed against Adam’s lips as he bent for another shorter kiss. “And happy. And relieved. I’ve missed you so.”

Adam let out a short, tearful laugh and pulled Michael in for a hug, pressing his face into the space between his neck and shoulder and breathing in his scent. “I’ve missed you too.” 

“I love you.” It was only his second time saying it but for some reason the words sounded so familiar to Adam’s ears, as though he knew all along how Michael felt about him. 

Adam swallowed hard and sighed in contentment. “I love you too.” He picked his head up to say something else when he noticed the outlines of trees and clouds filling themselves in around them, as though someone were holding a pencil and was sketching the world from scratch. In a moment of panic, Adam moved closer to Michael for protection. “Wh-what’s going on?”

Michael chuckled and wrapped an arm around Adam’s waist again, holding him close as they watched splashes of green and blue appear as the leaves colored themselves in and the sky painted over, the brown of the tree bark deepening and darkening to a lovely but surreal bronze hue. “I have been waiting in this landscape of white for...for I don’t know how long, exactly. And I don’t know for what I’ve been waiting. I suppose, in the end, it was you.” He pressed a kiss to Adam’s hair. “As much as this looks like a beautiful landscape, however, I believe it is high time we leave.”

Adam furrowed his eyebrows. “You haven’t left this place at all?”

“As I’ve said, I’ve been waiting...for you. I couldn’t leave yet.” 

Adam smiled and nodded before walking backwards, his eyes never leaving Michael’s, lips breaking into a full grin. “Well, I’m here now, and you can leave.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

Michael stared at Adam’s outstretched hand and Adam hadn’t realized until now how much he’d missed the trademark look of utter perplexity on his face. “Go where? Do you have any ideas?”

Adam pretended to think about it. “Well, I told my mom everything that’s happened to me, about you and the Leviathans and the Winchesters. And based on her reactions to everything, I think she likes you.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Wanna meet her?”

Michael hesitated before stepping and taking Adam’s hand, confident that he would lead him in the right direction. “Let’s.”

They started to walk slowly as the greens, blues, and browns finished filling in around them and Adam looked around at the unfamiliar park in which they were standing. There was a comfortable silence between them before Adam asked, “Was it worth it?”

Michael blinked. “Was what worth it?”

Adam shrugged before indicating their surroundings. “Everything. Heaven. Losing your grace. Dying. All this.”

“Loving you?” Michael smiled as Adam nodded. “Yes.”

\---

Kate had predictably taken to Michael so well that she invited him to stay in the guest room until the end of time, even though Michael insisted he could wander and find someplace else to sleep like he’d been doing since he arrived here. He didn’t want to impose, but once Kate Milligan got a hold of you, you were as good as stuck. 

Dinner conversation later that night revolved mostly around dialogue between Kate and Michael. She was so intrigued by his ‘work’ as an archangel (commanding Heaven, seeing the world a hundred times over, living through all of history), and likewise he was interested in how she grew up, what her life on Earth was like, what it was like raising Adam. She’d joked around that he was a handful as a child and Michael had teased right back that he was no different as a boyfriend, and the two of them had laughed about it like they were old friends while Adam sat and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. At least they were getting along. 

Adam was quiet most of the dinner, which he didn’t mind at all to be honest, but he had to jump in and protest when Kate started explaining what baby photos were to Michael, and asked the former archangel if he’d like to see any of Adam’s. The embarrassed young man had to pull out dessert in order to break through the dangerous territory the conversation was taking. The last thing Adam needed was Michael looking through one of Kate’s photo albums with his baby photos (some of which did include choice shots of Adam’s naked bum). 

It was well into the dusking hours when Michael, who’d been poking around the living room and flipping through the Milligan collection of CDs, noticed that Adam wasn’t there. He went into the kitchen where Kate was clearing up dessert and asked where Adam had disappeared to and Kate merely pointed up.

“His room?” Michael clarified, but she grinned and shook her head and Michael knew: the roof, just like old times. Just like the last time Michael had been in this house, only back then it had been on Earth just before his demise. 

He jogged up the staircase and headed into Adam’s room, where the window was wide open and the green shades were flapping gently in the breeze. He looked out the window and saw Adam sitting on the roof, knees tucked up to his chin and a lingering smile on his face. 

Normally Michael would shout out to him. But instead of yelling at him to get down, Michael decided that, this time, he would go up there and really see why Adam liked it so much.

\---

There was no sixth time. Only peace.


End file.
